wmv 


llllilllill  I  .llH'llM 


G .  DWIGHT 


31 


|lriurctofn  Umbcrsitn 


NE  S.  VUCINICH 


xip 


GEISEL  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SAN  DIEGO 

U  JOLLA,  CALIFORNIA 


CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND  NEW 


Photograph  by  Alinari  Br 


Sultan  Mehmed  II,  the  Conqueror 

From  the  portrait  by  Gentile  Bellini  in  the  Layard  Collection 


CONSTANTINOPLE 

OLD  AND  NEW 


HrcrDWIGHT 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1915 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
CHARLES   SCRIBNERS   SONS 

Published  September,  1915 


OF  HIS   BOOK 

A  NUMBER  of  years  ago  it  happened  to  the  writer  of 
this  book  to  live  in  Venice.  He  accordingly  read,  as 
every  good  English-speaking  Venetian  does,  Mr.,  How- 
ells's  **  Venetian  Life."  And  after  the  first  heat  of  his 
admiration  he  ingenuously  said  to  himself:  "I  know 
Constantinople  quite  as  well  as  Mr.  Howells  knew 
Venice.  Why  shouldn't  I  write  a  '  Constantinople  Life '?  " 
He  neglected  to  consider  the  fact  that  dozens  of  other 
people  knew  Venice  even  better  than  Mr.  Howells,  per- 
haps, but  could  never  have  written  "Venetian  Life." 
Nevertheless,  he  took  himself  and  his  project  seriously. 
He  went  back,  in  the  course  of  time,  to  Constantinople, 
w^ith  no  other  intent  than  to  produce  his  imitation  of 
Mr.  Howells.  And  the  reader  will  doubtless  smile  at 
the  remoteness  of  resemblance  between  that  perfect 
little  book  and  this  big  one. 

Aside,  however,  from  the  primary  difference  between 
two  pens,  circumstances  further  intervened  to  deflect 
this  book  from  its  original  aspiration.  As  the  writer 
made  acquaintance  with  his  predecessors  in  the  field, 
he  was  struck  by  the  fact  that  Constantinople,  in  com- 
parison with  Venice  and  I  know  not  how  many  other 
cities,  and  particularly  that  Turkish  Constantinople,  has 
been  wonderfully  little  "exploited"  —  at  least  in  our 
generation  and  by  users  of  our  language.  He  therefore 
turned  much  of  his  attention  to  its  commoner  aspects 
—  which  Mr.  Howells  in  Venice  felt,  very  happily,  under 
no   obligation   to   do.     Then   the   present   writer   found 


a; 


wmroRAWN 


VllI 


OF    HIS    BOOK 


himself  more  and  more  irritated  by  the  patronising  or 
contemptuous  tone  of  the  West  toward  the  East,  and  he 
made  it  rather  a  point  —  since  in  art  one  may  choose  a 
point  of  view  —  to  dwell  on  the  picturesque  and  ad- 
mirable side  of  Constantinople.  And  soon  after  his  re- 
turn there  took  place  the  revokition  of  1908,  whose 
various  consequences  have  attracted  so  much  of  inter- 
national notice  during  the  last  five  years.  It  was  but 
natural  that  events  so  moving  should  find  some  reflection 
in  the  pages  of  an  avowed  impressionist.  Incidentally, 
however,  it  has  come  about  that  the  Constantinople  of 
this  book  is  a  Constantinople  in  transition.  The  first 
chapter  to  be  wTitten  was  the  one  called  "A  Turkish 
Village."  Since  it  was  originally  put  on  paper,  a  few 
weeks  before  the  revolution,  the  village  it  describes  has 
been  so  ravaged  by  a  well-meaning  but  unilluminated 
desire  of  "progress"  that  I  now  find  it  impossible  to 
bring  the  chapter  up  to  date  without  rewriting  it  in  a 
very  difi'erent  key.  I  therefore  leave  it  practically  un- 
touched, as  a  record  of  the  old  Constantinople  of  which 
I  happened  to  see  the  last.  And  as  years  go  by  much 
of  the  rest  of  the  book  can  only  have  a  similar  documen- 
tary reference. 

At  the  same  time  I  have  tried  to  catch  an  atmosphere 
of  Constantinople  that  change  does  not  afi'ect  and  to 
point  out  certain  things  of  permanent  interest  —  as  in 
the  chapters  on  mosque  yards,  gardens,  and  fountains,  as 
well  as  in  numerous  references  to  the  old  Turkish  house. 
Being  neither  a  Byzantinist  nor  an  Oricntahst,  and, 
withal,  no  expert  in  questions  of  art,  I  reahse  that  the 
true  expert  will  find  much  to  take  exception  to.  While 
in  matters  of  fact  I  have  tried  to  be  as  accurate  as  pos- 
sible, I  have  mainly  followed  the  not  infalHble  Von  Ham- 
mer, and  most  of  my  Turkish  translations  are  borrowed 


OF    HIS    BOOK  ix 

from  him  or  otherwise  acquired  at  second  hand.  More- 
over, I  have  unexpectedly  been  obhged  to  correct  my 
proofs  in  another  country,  far  from  books  and  from  the 
friends  who  might  have  helped  to  save  my  face  before 
the  critic.  I  shall  welcome  his  attacks,  however,  if  a 
little  more  interest  be  thereby  awakened  in  a  place  and 
a  people  of  which  the  outside  world  entertains  the  vaguest 
ideas.  In  this  book,  as  in  the  list  of  books  at  its  end, 
I  have  attempted  to  do  no  more  than  to  suggest.  Of 
the  list  in  question  I  am  the  first  to  acknowledge  that  it 
is  in  no  proper  sense  a  bibliography.  I  hardly  need  say 
that  it  does  not  begin  to  be  complete.  If  it  did  it  would 
fill  more  pages  than  the  volume  it  belongs  to.  It  con- 
tains almost  no  original  sources  and  it  gives  none  of  the 
detailed  and  classified  information  which  a  bibliography 
should.  It  is  merely  what  I  call  it,  a  list  of  books,  of 
more  popular  interest,  in  the  languages  more  commonly 
read  by  Anglo-Saxons,  relating  to  the  two  great  periods 
of  Constantinople  and  various  phases  of  the  history  and 
art  of  each,  together  with  a  few^  better-known  works  of 
general  literature. 

I  must  add  a  word  with  regard  to  the  spelling  of  the 
Turkish  names  and  words  which  occur  in  these  pages. 
The  great  difficulty  of  rendering  in  English  the  sound  of 
foreign  words  is  that  English,  like  Turkish,  does  not 
spell  itself.  For  that  reason,  and  because  whatever  in- 
terest this  book  may  have  will  be  of  a  general  rather 
than  of  a  specialised  kind,  I  have  ventured  to  deviate  a 
little  from  the  logical  system  of  the  Royal  Geographical 
Society.  I  have  not  done  so  with  regard  to  consonants, 
which  have  the  same  value  as  in  English,  with  the  ex- 
ception that  g  is  always  hard  and  s  is  never  pronounced 
like  z.  The  gutturals  gh  and  kh  have  been  so  softened 
by   the  Constantinople    dialect    that    I    generally   avoid 


X  OF    HIS    BOOK 

them,  merely  suggesting  them  by  an  h.  Y,  as  I  use  it,  is 
half  a  consonant,  as  in  yes.  As  for  the  other  vowels, 
they  are  to  be  pronounced  in  general  as  in  the  Conti- 
nental languages.  But  many  newspaper  readers  might 
be  surprised  to  learn  that  the  towm  where  the  Bulgarians 
gained  their  initial  success  during  the  Balkan  war  was  not 
Kirk  Kiliss,  and  that  the  second  syllable  of  the  first 
name  of  the  late  Mahmud  Shefket  Pasha  did  not  rhyme 
with  bud.  I  therefore  weakly  pander  to  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  eye  by  tagging  a  final  e  with  an  admonitory  h, 
and  I  illogically  fall  back  on  the  French  ou  —  or  that  of 
our  own  w^ord  through.  There  is  another  vow^el  sound 
in  Turkish  which  the  general  reader  will  probably  give  up 
in  despair.  This  is  uttered  with  the  teeth  close  together 
and  the  tongue  near  the  roof  of  the  mouth,  and  is  very 
much  like  the  pronunciation  we  give  to  the  last  syllable 
of  words  ending  in  tion  or  to  the  nt  in  neednt.  It  is 
generally  rendered  in  foreign  languages  by  i  and  some- 
times in  English  by  the  u  of  sun.  Neither  really  ex- 
presses it,  however,  nor  does  any  other  letter  in  the 
Roman  alphabet.  I  have  therefore  chosen  to  indicate 
it  by  I,  chiefly  because  the  circumflex  suggests  a  dif- 
ference. For  the  reader's  further  guidance  in  pronuncia- 
tion I  will  give  him  the  rough-and-ready  rule  that  all 
Turkish  words  are  accented  on  the  last  syllabic.  But 
this  does  not  invariably  hold,  particularly  with  double 
vowels  —  as  in  the  name  Hussein,  or  the  word  serai,  pal- 
ace. Our  common  a  and  i,  as  in  lake  and  like,  are  really 
similar  double  vowel  sounds,  similarly  accented  on  the 
first.  The  same  rules  of  pronunciation,  though  not  of 
accent,  apply  to  the  few  Greek  words  I  have  had  occa- 
sion to  use.  I  have  made  no  attempt  to  transliterate 
them.  Neither  have  I  attempted  to  subject  well-known 
words    or    names   of   cither    language   to    my    somewhat 


OF    HIS    BOOK  xi 

arbitrary  rules.  Stamboul  I  continue  so  to  call,  though 
to  the  Turks  it  is  something  more  hke  Istambol;  and 
words  like  bey,  caique,  and  sultan  have  long  since  been 
naturalised  in  the  West.  I  have  made  an  exception, 
however,  with  regard  to  Turkish  personal  names,  and 
in  mentioning  the  reigning  Sultan  or  his  great  ancestor, 
the  Conqueror,  I  have  followed  not  the  European  but 
the  Turkish  usage,  which  reserves  the  form  Mohammed 
for  the  Prophet  alone. 

This  is  not  a  book  of  learning,  but  I  have  required  a 
great  deal  of  help  in  putting  it  together,  and  I  cannot 
close  this  prefatory  note  without  acknowledging  my  in- 
debtedness to  more  kind  friends  than  I  have  space  to 
name.  Most  of  all  I  owe  to  Mr.  E.  L.  Burlingame,  of 
Scribners  Magazine,  and  to  my  father.  Dr.  H.  O.  Dwight, 
without  whose  encouragement,  moral  and  material, 
during  many  months,  I  could  never  have  afforded  the 
luxury  of  writing  a  book.  I  am  also  under  obligation 
to  their  Excellencies,  J.  G.  A.  Leishman,  O.  S.  Straus, 
and  W.  W.  Rockhill,  American  ambassadors  to  the 
Porte,  and  especially  to  the  last,  for  cards  of  admis- 
sion, letters  of  introduction,  and  other  facilities  for  col- 
lecting material.  Among  many  others  who  have  taken 
the  trouble  to  give  me  assistance  of  one  kind  or  another 
I  particularly  wish  to  express  my  acknowledgments  to 
Arthur  Baker,  Esq.;  to  Mgr.  Christophoros,  Bishop  of 
Pera;  to  F.  Mortimer  Clapp,  Esq.;  to  Feridoun  Bey, 
Professor  of  Turkish  in  Robert  College;  to  H.  E.  Halil 
Edhem  Bey,  Director  of  the  Imperial  Museum;  to 
Hussein  Danish  Bey,  of  the  Ottoman  Public  Debt;  to 
H.  E.  Ismail  Jenani  Bey,  Grand  Master  of  Ceremonies 
of  the  Imperial  Court;  to  H.  E.  Ismet  Bey,  Prejet  adjoint 
of  Constantinople;  to  Kemaleddin  Bey,  Architect  in 
Chief  of  the  Ministry  of  Pious  Foundations;    to  Mah- 


xii  OF    HIS    BOOK 

moud  Bey,  Sheikh  of  the  Bektash  Dervishes  of  Roumeli 
Hissar;  to  Professor  Alexander  van  MilHngen;  to  Fred- 
erick Moore,  Esq.;  to  Mr.  Panayotti  D.  Nicolopoulos, 
Secretary  of  the  Mixed  Council  of  the  GEcumenical  Patri- 
archate; to  Haji  Orhan  Selaheddin  Dedeh,  of  the  Mevlevi 
Dervishes  of  Pera;  to  A.  L.  Otterson,  Esq.;  to  Sir  Edwin 
Pears;  to  Refik  Bey,  Curator  of  the  Palace  and  Treasury 
of  Top  Kapou;  to  E.  D.  Roth,  Esq.;  to  Mr.  Arshag 
Schmavonian,  Legal  Adviser  of  the  American  Embassy; 
to  WiOiam  Thompson,  Esq.;  to  Ernest  Weakley,  Esq.; 
and  to  Zia  Bey,  of  the  Ministry  of  Pious  Foundations. 
My  thanks  are  also  due  to  the  editors  of  the  Atlantic 
Monthly,  of  Scribners  Magazine,  and  of  the  Spectator, 
for  allowing  me  to  repubhsh  those  chapters  which  orig- 
inally came  out  in  their  periodicals.  And  I  am  not  least 
grateful  to  the  publishers  for  permitting  me  to  change 
the  scheme  of  my  book  while  in  preparation,  and  to  sub- 
stitute new  illustrations  for  a  large  number  that  had  al- 
ready been  made. 

Hamadan, 

6th  Sefer,  1332. 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  I 
Stamboul I 

Chapter  II 
Mosque  Yards 33 

Chapter  III 
Old  Constantinople 74 

Chapter  IV 
The  Golden  Horn 113 

Chapter  V 
The  Magnificent  Community 148 

Chapter  VI 
The  City  of  Gold 189 

Chapter  VII 
The  Gardens  of  the  Bosphorus 227 

Chapter  VIII 
The  Moon  of  Ramazan 265 

xiii 


PAGE 


xiv  CONTENTS 

Chapter  IX 
Mohammedan  Holidays 284 

Chapter  X 
Two  Processions 301 

Chapter  XI 
Greek  Feasts 318 

Chapter  XII 
Fountains 352 

Chapter  XIII 
A  Turkish  Village 382 

Chapter  XIV 
Revolution,   1908 402 

Chapter  XV 
The  Capture  of  Constantinople,   1909     .     .     .     425 

Chapter  XVI 
War  Time,   1912-1913 459 


Masters  of  Constantinople 545 

A  Constantinople  Book-Shelf 549 

Index y^^ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Sultan  Mehmed  II,  the  Conqueror Frontispiece 

From  the  portrait  b}'  Gentile  Bellini  in  the  Layard  Collection 

PAGE 

A  Stamboul  street        5 

From  an  etching  by  Ernest  D.  Roth 

Divan  Yolou 9 

A  house  in  Eyoub 11 

A  house  at  Aya  Kapou 12 

The  house  of  the  pipe 13 

That  grape-vine  is  one  of  the  most  decorative  elements  of  Stam- 
boul streets 21 

A  water-side  coffee-house 23 

"Drinking"  a  ;zarg//f/z 26 

Fez-presser  in  a  coffee-house 27 

Playing  tavli 29 

The  plane-tree  of  Chengel-kyoi 31 

The  yard  of  Hekim-zadeh  Ali  Pasha 35 

"The  Little  ]Mosque" 37 

From  an  etching  by  Ernest  D.  Roth 

Entrance  to  the  forecourt  of  Sultan  Baiezid  II 40 

Detail  of  the  Siileimanieh 41 

Yeni  Jami 43 

Tile  panel  in  Riistem  Pasha 50 

The  mihrab  of  Riistem  Pasha 51 


XV 


XVI 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

In  Rustem  Pasha 5^ 

Tiles  in  the  gallery  of  Sultan  x\hmed 53 

The  tomb  of  Sultan  Ahmed  I 57 

In  Roxelana's  tomb 59 

The  tiirbch  of  Ibrahim  Pasha 63 

The  court  of  the  Conqueror 64 

The  main  entrance  to  the  court  of  SokoUi  Mehnied  Pasha    ...  65 

The  interior  of  SokoUi  Mehmed  Pasha 67 

The  court  of  SokoUi  Mehmed  Pasha 69 

Doorway  in  the  mcdresseh  of  Feizoullah  Effendi 70 

Entrance  to  the  medresseh  of  Kyopriilu  HUssein  Pasha      ....  71 

The  mcdresseh  of  Hassan  Pasha 72 

St.  Sophia 77 

From  an  etching  by  Frank  Brangwyn 

The  Myrelaion 83 

The  House  of  Justinian 86 

The  Palace  of  the  Porphyrogenitus 90 

Interior  of  the  Studion 93 

Kahrieh  Jami 97 

^Mosaic   from   Kahrieh  Jami  :    Theodore  Metochites  offering  his 

church  to  Christ 98 

Mosaic  from  Kahrieh  Jami  :   the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents      .     .  loi 

Giotto's  fresco  of  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents,  in  the  Arena 

chapel,  Padua loi 

Mosaic  from  Kahrieh  Jami  :   the  Marriage  at  Cana 104 

The  Golden  Gate 109 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xvii 

PAGE 

Outside  the  land  walls iii 

A  last  marble  tower  stands  superbly  out  of  the  blue       .     .     .     .  112 

The  Golden  Horn 115 

From  the  Specchio  Maritlimo  of  Bartolommeo  Prato 

Lighters 118 

Sandals 119 

Caiques 121 

Sailing  caiques 122 

Galleons  that  might  have  sailed  out  of  the  Middle  Ages  anchor 

there  now 123 

The  Seven  Sleepers  of  Ephesus 125 

From  a  Persian  miniature  in  the  Bibliotlicqiie  Xationale 

The  mihrab  of  Pialeh  Pasha 131 

Old  houses  of  Phanar 133 

The  outer  court  of  Eyoub 135 

Eyoub 137 

The  cemetery  of  Eyoub ,     .  141 

Kiat  Haneh 145 

Lion  fountain  in  the  old  \'enetian  quarter       153 

Genoese  archway  at  Azap  Kapou 155 

The  mosque  of  Don  Quixote  and  the  fountain  of  Sultan  ^lahmoud  I  165 

Interior  of  the  mosque  of  Don  Quixote        167 

The  admiral's  flag  of  Haireddin  Barbarossa •    .     .     .  169 

Drawn  by  Kenan  Bey 

Grande  Rue  de  Pera 180 

The  Little  Field  of  the  Dead 181 

The  fountain  of  Azap  Kapou 183 


xviii  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Fountain  near  Galata  Tower 185 

The  Kabatash  breakwater 187 

Fresco  in  an  old  house  in  Scutari 191 

The  Street  of  the  Falconers 199 

Fountain  in  the  mosque  yard  of  Mihrimah 201 

Tiles  in  the  mosque  of  the  Valideh  Atik 203 

Chinili  Jami 204 

The  fountains  of  the  Valideh  Jedid 205 

Interior  of  the  Valideh  Jedid 207 

The  Ahmedieh 209 

Shemsi  Pasha 211 

The  bassma  haneh       213 

Hand  wood-block  printing 215 

The  Bosphorus  from  the  heights  of  Scutari 217 

Gravestones 221 

Scutari  Cemetery 223 

In  a  Turkish  garden 230 

A  Byzantine  well-head 232 

A  garden  wall  fountain 2t,t, 

A  jetting  fountain  in  the  garden  of  Halil  Edhem  Bey      ....  235 

A  selsebil  at  KandilU 236 

A  selsebil  of  Halil  Edhcm  Bey 237 

In  the  garden  of  Ressam  Halil  Pasha 239 

The  garden  of  the  Russian  embassy  at  Biiyuk  Dereh 241 

The  upper  terrace  of  the  French  embassy  garden  at  Therapia       .  243 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


XIX 


PAGE 


The  Villa  of  the  Sun,  Kandilli 249 

An  eighteenth-century  villa  at  Arnaout-kyoi 252 

The  golden  room  of  Kyopriilu  Hiissein  Pasha 253 

In  the  harem  of  the  Seraglio 261 

The  "  Cage "  of  the  Seraglio 263 

A  Kara-gyoz  poster 271 

Wrestlers 271: 

The  imperial  cortege  poured  from  the  palace  gate 281 

From  a  drawing  by  E.  M.  Ashe 


289 


Bairam  sweets 

The  open  spaces  of  the  Mohammedan  quarters  are  utilised  for 

I3,irs ••••■•.,..,,  20  c 

Sheep-market  at  Yeni  Jami 299 

Church  fathers  in  the  Sacred  Caravan ^ok 

Housings  in  the  Sacred  Caravan -706 

The  sacred  camel ,07 

The  palanquin ^^g 

Tied  with  very  new  rope   to  the  backs   of   some   thirty  mules 

.   .   .   were  the  quaint  little  hair  trunks 309 

A  Persian  miniature  representing  the  death  of  Ali 311 

Valideh  Han       -,j^ 

Blessing  the  Bosphorus -,21 

The  dancing  Epirotes -^2^ 

Bulgarians  dancing 3:,5 

Greeks  dancing  to  the  strains  of  a  lantema 337 

The  mosque  and  the  Greek  altar  of  Kourou  Cheshmeh   ....  348 


XX  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


Wall  fountain  in  the  Seraglio 354 

Selsebil  in  Bebek 355 

The  goose  fountain  at  Kazli 356 

The  wall  fountain  of  Chinili-Kyoshk ,     .     .     .  357 

Shadrivan  of  Kyopriilu  Hiissem  Pasha 359 

Shadrivan  of  Ramazan  Effendi 360 

Shadrivan  of  SokoUi  Mehmed  Pasha 361 

The  Byzantine  fountain  of  Kirk  Cheshmeh 365 

The  two  fountains  of  Ak  Biyik 368 

Street  fountain  at  Et  Yemez 371 

Fountain  of  Ahmed  III  in  the  park  at  Kiat  Haneh 373 

Detail  of  the  fountain  of  Mahmoud  I  at  Top  Haneh 374 

Fountain  of  Abd  til  Hamid  II 375 

Sebil  behind  the  tomb  of  Sultan  Mehmed  III 377 

Sebil  of  Sultan  Ahmed  III 379 

Cut-Throat  Castle  from  the  water 384 

The  castle  of  Baiezid  the  Thunderbolt 385 

The  north  tower  of  the  castle 387 

The  \illage  boatmen  and  their  skiffs 397 

In  the  market-place 399 

Badge  of  the  revolution:   "Liberty,  Justice,  Frutcrnity,  Iv[uality"  405 

Cartoon  representing  the  exodus  of  the  Palace  camarilla  ....  412 

Soldiers  at  Chatalja,  April  20 428 

Macedonian  Nolunteers 437 

A  Macedonian  Blue 439 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xxi 

PAGE 

Taxim  artillery  barracks,  shelled  April  24 441 

They  were,  in  fact,  reserves  posted  for  the  afternoon   attack  on 

Tash  Kishla 443 

Burial  of  volunteers,  April  26 446 

Deputies  leaving  Parliament  after  deposing  Abd  til  Hamid,  April  27  447 

Mehmed  V  driving  through  Stamboul  on  his  accession  day,  April  27  451 

Mehmed  V  on  the  day  of  sword-girding.  May  10 453 

Arriving  from  Asia 460 

Reserves 461 

Recruits 462 

Hand  in  hand 463 

Demonstration  in  the  Hippodrome 465 

Convalescents 480 

Stuck  in  the  mud 482 

The  aqueduct  of  Andronicus  I 484 

Fleeing  from  the  enemy 485 

Cholera 498 

Joachim  III,  Patriarch  of  Constantinople 501 

The  south  pulpit  of  the  Pantocrator       503 

Portrait  of  John  VII  Palaeologus  as  one  of  the  Three  Wise  Men, 

by  Benozzo  Gozzoli.      Riccardi  Chapel,  Florence 505 

Church  of  the  All-Blessed  Virgin  (Fetieh  Jami) 515 

The  lantern-bearers 517 

The  dead  Patriarch 519. 

Exiles 523 

Lady  Lowther's  refugees „     , 526 

Peasant  embroidery 532 

Young  Thrace 533 


CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND  NEW 


I,  a  Persian  and  an  Ispahani,  had  ever  been  accustomed  to  hold  my 
native  city  as  the  first  in  the  world:  never  had  it  crossed  my  mind  that  any 
other  could,  in  the  smallest  degree,  enter  into  competition  with  it,  and  when 
the  capital  of  Roum  was  described  to  me  as  finer,  I  always  laughed  the 
describer  to  scorn.  But  what  was  my  astonishment,  and  I  may  add  mor- 
tification, on  beholding,  for  the  first  time,  this  magnificent  city !  I  had 
always  looked  upon  the  royal  mosque,  in  the  great  square  at  Ispahan,  as 
the  most  superb  building  in  the  world;  but  here  were  a  hundred  finer,  each 
surpassing  the  other  in  beauty  and  in  splendour.  Nothing  did  I  ever  con- 
ceive could  equal  the  extent  of  my  native  place;  but  here  my  eyes  became 
tired  with  wandering  over  the  numerous  hills  and  creeks  thickly  covered 
with  buildings,  which  seemed  to  bid  defiance  to  calculation.  If  Ispahan 
was  half  the  world,  this  indeed  was  the  whole.  And  then  this  gem  of  cities 
possesses  this  great  advantage  over  Ispahan,  that  it  is  situated  on  the  borders 
of  a  beautiful  succession  of  waters,  instead  of  being  surrounded  by  arid  and 
craggy  mountains;  and,  in  addition  to  its  own  extent  and  beauty,  enjoys 
the  advantage  of  being  reflected  in  one  never-failing  mirror,  ever  at  hand 
to  multiply  them.  .  .  .  "Oh  !  this  is  a  paradise,"  said  I  to  those  around  me; 
""and  may  I  never  leave  it !" 

— J.  J.  MoRiER,  "  r//e  Adventures  of  Hajji  Baba  of  Ispahan.'" 


CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND  NEW 


STAiMBOUL 

If  literature  could  be  governed  by  law  —  which,  very 
happily,  to  the  despair  of  grammarians,  it  can  not  —  there 
should  be  an  act  prohibiting  any  one,  on  pain  of  death, 
ever  to  quote  again  or  adapt  to  private  use  Charles 
Lamb  and  his  two  races  of  men.  No  one  is  better  aware 
of  the  necessity  of  such  a  law  than  the  present  scribe, 
as  he  struggles  with  the  temptation  to  declare  anew  that 
there  are  two  races  of  men.  Where,  for  instance,  do 
they  betray  themselves  more  perfectly  than  in  Stam- 
boul?  You  like  Stamboul  or  you  dishke  Stamboul,  and 
there  seems  to  be  no  half-way  ground  between  the  two 
opinions.  I  notice,  however,  that  conversion  from  the 
latter  rank  to  the  former  is  not  impossible.  I  cannot 
say  that  I  ever  really  belonged,  myself,  to  the  enemies 
of  Stamboul.  Stamboul  entered  too  early  into  my  con- 
sciousness and  I  was  too  early  separated  from  her  to 
ask  myself  questions;  and  it  later  happened  to  me  to 
fall  under  a  potent  spell.  But  there  came  a  day  when 
I  returned  to  Stamboul  from  Italy.  I  felt  a  scarcely 
definable  change  in  the  atmosphere  as  soon  as  we  crossed 
the  Danube.  Strange  letters  decorated  the  sides  of  cars, 
a  fez  or  two  —  shall  I  be  pedantic  enough  to  say  that  the 


2  CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

word  is  really  Jess?  —  appeared  at  car  windows,  peas- 
ants on  station  platforms  had  something  about  them 
that  recalled  youthful  associations.  The  change  grew 
more  and  more  marked  as  we  neared  the  Turkish  fron- 
tier. And  I  reahsed  to  w^hat  it  had  been  trending  when 
at  last  we  entered  a  breach  of  the  old  Byzantine  wall 
and  whistled  through  a  long  seaside  quarter  of  wooden 
houses  more  tumble-down  and  unpainted  than  I  remem- 
bered wooden  houses  could  be,  and  dusty  little  gardens, 
and  glimpses  of  a  wide  blue  water  through  ruinous  ma- 
sonry, and  people  as  out-at-elbow  and  down-at-the-heel 
as  their  houses,  who  even  at  that  shining  hour  of  a  sum- 
mer morning  found  time  to  smoke  hubble-bubbles  in 
tipsy  little  coffee-houses  above  the  Marmora  or  to  squat 
motionless  on  their  heels  beside  the  track  and  watch 
the  fire-carriage  of  the  unbehever  roll  in  from  the  West. 
I  have  never  forgotten  —  nor  do  successive  experiences 
seem  to  dull  the  sharpness  of  the  impression  —  that 
abysmal  drop  from  the  general  European  level  of  spruce- 
ness  and  solidity.  Yet  Stamboul,  if  you  belong  to  the 
same  race  of  men  as  I,  has  a  way  of  rehabihtating  her- 
self in  your  eyes,  perhaps  even  of  making  you  adopt 
her  point  of  view.  Not  that  I  shall  try  to  gloss  over 
her  case.  Stamboul  is  not  for  the  race  of  men  that 
must  have  trimness,  smoothness,  regularity,  and  mod- 
ern conveniences,  and  the  latest  amusements.  She  has 
ambitions  in  that  direction.  I  may  live  to  see  her  at- 
tain them.  I  have  already  lived  to  see  half  of  the  Stam- 
boul I  once  knew  burn  to  the  ground  and  the  other 
half  experiment  in  Haussmannising.  But  there  is  still 
enough  of  the  old  Stamboul  left  to  leaven  the  new.  It  is 
very  bumpy  to  drive  over.  It  is  ill-painted  and  out 
of  repair.  It  is  somewhat  intermittently  served  by  the 
scavenger.     Its   geography   is   almost   past   finding   out, 


STAMBOUL  3 

for  no  true  map  of  it,  in  this  year  of  grace  1914,  as 
yet  exists,  and  no  man  knows  his  street  or  number. 
What  he  knows  is  the  fountain  or  the  coffee-house  near 
which  he  lives,  and  the  quarter  in  which  both  are  situ- 
ated, named  perhaps  Coral,  or  Thick  Beard,  or  Eats 
No  Meat,  or  Sees  Not  Day;  and  it  remains  for  you  to 
fmd  that  quarter  and  that  fountain.  Nevertheless,  if 
you  belong  to  the  race  of  men  that  is  amused  by  such 
things,  that  is  curious  about  the  ways  and  thoughts  of 
other  men  and  feels  under  no  responsibihty  to  change 
them,  that  can  see  happy  arrangements  of  light  and 
shade,  of  form  and  colour,  without  having  them  pointed 
out  and  in  very  common  materials,  that  is  not  repelled 
by  things  which  look  old  and  out  of  order,  that  is  even 
attracted  by  things  which  do  look  so  and  therefore  have 
a  mellowness  of  tone  and  a  richness  of  association  —  if 
you  belong  to  this  race  of  men  you  will  Hke  Stamboul, 
and  the  chances  are  that  you  will  hke  it  very  much. 

You  must  not  make  the  other  mistake,  however,  of 
expecting  too  much  in  the  way  of  colour.  Constanti- 
nople lies,  it  is  true,  in  the  same  latitude  as  Naples;  but 
the  steppes  of  Russia  are  separated  from  it  only  by  the 
not  too  boundless  steppes  of  the  Black  Sea.  The  colour 
of  Constantinople  is  a  compromise,  therefore,  and  not 
always  a  successful  one,  between  north  and  south. 
While  the  sun  shines  for  half  the  year,  and  summer 
rain  is  an  exception,  there  is  something  hard  and  un- 
suffused  about  the  Hght.  Only  on  certain  days  of  south 
wind  are  you  reminded  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  more 
rarely  still  of  the  autumn  Adriatic.  As  for  the  town 
itself,  it  is  no  white  southern  city,  being  in  tone  one  of 
the  soberest.  I  could  never  bring  myself,  as  some 
writers  do,  to  speak  of  silvery  domes.  They  are  always 
covered  with  lead,  which  goes  excellently  with  the  stone 


4  CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

of  the  mosques  they  crown.  It  is  only  the  lesser  min- 
arets that  are  white;  and  here  and  there  on  some  lifted 
pinnacle  a  small  half-moon  makes  a  flash  of  gold.  While 
the  high  lights  of  Stamboul,  then,  are  grey,  this  stone 
Stamboul  is  small  in  proportion  to  the  darker  Stamboul 
that  fills  the  wide  interstices  between  the  mosques  —  a 
Stamboul  of  weathered  wood  that  is  just  the  colour  of 
an  etching.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me,  indeed,  that 
Stamboul,  above  all  other  cities  I  know,  waits  to  be 
etched.  Those  fine  lines  of  dome  and  minaret  are  for 
copper  rather  than  canvas,  while  those  crowded  houses 
need  the  acid  to  bring  out  the  richness  of  their  shadows. 
Stamboul  has  waited  a  long  time.  Besides  Frank 
Brangwyn  and  E.  D.  Roth,  I  know  of  no  etcher  who  has 
tried  his  needle  there.  And  neither  of  those  two  has 
done  what  I  could  imagine  Whistler  doing  —  a  Long 
Stamboul  as  seen  from  the  opposite  shore  of  the  Golden 
Horn.  When  the  archaeologists  tell  you  that  Constan- 
tinople, like  Rome,  is  built  on  seven  hills,  don't  believe 
them.  They  are  merely  riding  a  hobb^'^-horse  so  an- 
cient that  I,  for  one,  am  ashamed  to  mount  it.  Con- 
stantinople, or  that  part  of  it  which  is  now  Stamboul, 
lies  on  two  hills,  of  which  the  more  important  is  a  long 
ridge  dominating  the  Golden  Horn.  Its  crest  is  not 
always  at  the  same  level,  to  be  sure,  and  its  slopes  are 
naturally  broken  by  ravines.  If  Rome,  however,  had 
been  built  on  fourteen  hills  it  would  have  been  just  as 
easy  to  find  the  same  number  in  Constantinople.  That 
steep  promontory  advancing  between  sea  and  sea  to- 
ward a  steeper  Asia  must  always  have  been  something 
to  look  at.  But  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  the  city 
of  Constantine  and  Justinian  can  have  marked  so  noble 
an  outline  against  the  sky  as  the  city  of  the  sultans. 
For  the   mosques  of  the  sultans,   placed  exactly   where 


■rum  an  ctcliin,'  by  Ernt■^t  U.  Ruth 


A  Stamboul  street 


STAMBOUL  7 

their  pyramids  of  domes  and  lance-Iike  minarets  tell 
most  against  the  light,  are  what  make  the  silhouette  of 
Stamboul  one  of  the  most  notable  things  in  the  world. 

Of  the  many  voyagers  who  have  celebrated  the  pan- 
orama of  Constantinople,  not  a  few  have  recorded  their 
disappointment  on  coming  to  closer  acquaintance.  De 
gustibus  ...  I  have  small  respect,  however,  for  the 
taste  of  those  who  find  that  the  mosques  will  not  bear 
inspection.  I  shall  presently  have  something  more  par- 
ticular to  say  in  that  matter.  But  since  I  am  now  speak- 
ing of  the  general  aspects  of  Stamboul  I  can  hardly  pass 
over  the  part  played  by  the  mosques  and  their  depen- 
dencies. A  grey  dome,  a  white  minaret,  a  black  cypress 
—  that  is  the  group  which,  recurring  in  every  possible 
composition,  makes  up  so  much  of  the  colour  of  the 
streets.  On  the  monumental  scale  of  the  imperial  mosques 
it  ranks  among  the  supreme  architectural  effects.  On  a 
smaller  scale  it  never  lacks  charm.  One  element  of  this 
charm  is  so  simple  that  I  wonder  it  has  not  been  more 
widely  imitated.  Almost  every  mosque  is  enclosed  b}'  a 
wall,  sometimes  of  smooth  ashler  with  a  pointed  coping, 
sometimes  of  plastered  cobblestones  tiled  at  the  top, 
often  tufted  with  snapdragon  and  camomile  daisies. 
And  this  wall  is  pierced  by  a  succession  of  windows 
which  are  filled  with  metal  grille  work  as  simple  or  as 
elaborate  as  the  builder  pleased.  For  he  knew,  the 
crafty  man,  that  a  grille  or  a  lattice  is  always  pleasant 
to  look  through,  and  that  it  somehow  lends  interest  to 
the  barest  prospect. 

There  is  hardly  a  street  of  Stamboul  in  which  some 
such  window  does  not  give  a  glimpse  into  the  peace  and 
gravity  of  the  East.  The  windows  do  not  all  look  into 
mosque  yards.  Many  of  them  open  into  the  cloister  of 
a  medresseh,  a  theological  school,   or  some  other  pious 


8  CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

foundation.  Many  more  look  Into  a  patch  of  ground 
where  tall  turbaned  and  lichened  stones  lean  among 
cypresses  or  where  a  more  or  less  stately  mausoleum,  a 
tiirheh,  lifts  its  dome.  Life  and  death  seem  never  very 
far  apart  in  Constantinople.  In  other  cities  the  fact 
that  life  has  an  end  is  put  out  of  sight  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. Here  it  is  not  only  acknowledged  but  taken  ad- 
vantage of  for  decorative  purposes.  Even  Divan  Yolou, 
the  Street  of  the  Council,  which  is  the  principal  avenue 
of  Stamboul,  owes  much  of  its  character  to  the  tombs 
and  patches  of  cemetery  that  border  it.  Several  sultans 
and  grand  viziers  and  any  number  of  more  obscure  per- 
sons lie  there  neighbourly  to  the  street,  from  which  he 
who  strolls,  if  not  he  who  runs,  may  read  —  if  Arabic 
letters  be  familiar  to  him  —  half  the  history  of  the 
empire. 

Of  the  houses  of  the  living  I  have  already  hinted  that 
they  are  less  permanent  in  appearance.  Until  very  re- 
cently they  were  all  built  of  wood,  and  they  all  burned 
down  ever  so  often.  Consequently  Stamboul  has  begun 
to  rebuild  herself  in  brick  and  concrete.  I  shall  not  com- 
plain of  it,  for  I  admit  that  it  is  not  well  for  Stamboul  to 
continue  burning  down.  I  also  admit  that  Stamboul 
must  modernise  some  of  her  habits.  It  is  a  matter  of 
the  greatest  urgency  if  Stamboul  wishes  to  continue  to 
exist.  Yet  I  am  sorry  to  have  the  old  wooden  house  of 
Stamboul  disappear.  It  Is  not  merely  that  I  am  a  fa- 
natic in  things  of  other  times.  That  house  is,  at  its  best, 
so  expressive  a  piece  of  architecture,  it  Is  so  simple  and 
so  dignified  in  its  Hnes,  it  contains  so  much  wisdom  for 
the  modern  decorator,  that  I  am  sorry  for  It  to  disappear 
and  leave  no  report  of  itself.  If  I  could  do  what  I  like, 
there  is  nothing  I  should  like  to  do  more  than  to  build, 
and  to  set  a  fashion   of  building,   from   less  perishable 


STAMBOUL  9 

materials,  and  fitted  out  with  a  little  more  convenience, 
a  konak  of  Stamboul.  They  are  descended,  I  suppose, 
from  the  old  Byzantine  houses.     There  is  almost  nothing 


Divan  Yolou 


Arabic  about  them,  at  all  events,  and  their  interior  ar- 
rangement resembles  that  of  any  palazzo  of  the  Renais- 
sance. 

The  old  wooden  house  of  Stamboul  is  never  very  tall. 
It  sits  roomily  on  the  ground,  seldom  rising  above  two 
storeys.  Its  effect  resides  in  its  symmetry  and  propor- 
tion, for  there  is  almost  no  ornament  about  it.  The 
doorway  is  the  most  decorative  part  of  the  facade.  Its 
two  leaves  open  very  broad  and  square,  with  knockers 
in  the  form  of  lyres,  or  big  rings  attached  to  round  plates 
of  intricately  perforated  copper.  Above  it  there  will 
often  be  an  oval  hght  filled  with  a  fan  or  star  of  swallow- 


10        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

tailed  wooden  radii.  The  windows  in  general  make  up 
a  great  part  of  the  character  of  the  house,  so  big  and  so 
numerous  are  they.  They  are  all  latticed,  unless  Chris- 
tians happen  to  hve  in  the  house;  but  above  the  lattices 
is  sometimes  a  second  tier  of  windows,  for  light,  w^hose 
small  round  or  oval  panes  are  decoratively  set  in  broad 
white  mullions  of  plaster.  For  the  most  original  part  of 
its  effect,  however,  the  house  counts  on  its  upper  storey, 
which  juts  out  over  the  street  on  stout  timbers  curved 
like  the  bow  of  a  ship.  Sometimes  these  corbels  balance 
each  other  right  and  left  of  the  centre  of  the  house,  w^hich 
may  be  rounded  on  the  principle  of  a  New  York  "swell 
front,"  only  more  gracefully,  and  occasionally  a  third 
storey  leans  out  be^'ond  the  second.  This  arrangement 
gives  more  space  to  the  upper  floors  than  the  ground  it- 
self affords  and  also  assures  a  better  view.  If  it  inci- 
dentally narrows  and  darkens  the  street,  I  think  the 
passer-by  can  only  be  grateful  for  the  fine  line  of  the 
curving  brackets  and  for  the  summer  shade.  He  is 
further  protected  from  the  sun  by  the  broad  eaves  of  the 
house,  supported,  perhaps,  by  little  brackets  of  their 
own.  Under  them  was  stencilled  of  old  an  Arabic  in- 
vocation, which  more  rarely  decorated  a  blue-and-white 
tile  and  which  nowadays  is  generally  printed  on  paper 
and  framed  like  a  picture — "O  Protector,"  "O  Con- 
queror," "O  Proprietor  of  all  Property."  And  over  all 
is  a  low-pitched  roof,  hardly  ever  gabled,  of  the  red  tiles 
you  see  in  Italy. 

The  inside  of  the  house  is  almost  as  simple  as  the 
outside  —  or  it  used  to  be  before  Europe  infected  it.  A 
great  entrance  hall,  paved  with  marble,  runs  through  the 
house  from  street  to  garden,  for  almost  no  house  in  Stam- 
boul  lacks  its  patch  of  green;  and  branching  or  double 
stairways  lead  to  the  upper  regions.     Other  big  halls  are 


STAMBOUL 


II 


there,  with  niches  and  fountains  set  in  the  wall.  The 
rooms  opening  out  on  either  hand  contain  almost  no 
furniture.  The  so-called  Turkish  corner  which  I  fear  is 
still  the  pride  of  some  Western  interiors  never  originated 


A  house  in  Eyoub 


anywhere  but  in  the  diseased  imagination  of  an  up- 
holsterer. The  beauty  of  an  old  Turkish  room  does 
not  depend  on  what  may  have  been  brought  into  it  by 
chance,  but  on  its  own  proportion  and  colour.  On  one 
side,  covering  the  entire  wall,  should  be  a  series  of  cup- 
boards and  niches,  which  may  be  charmingly  decorated 
with  painted  flowers  and  gilt  or  coloured  moulding.     The 


12        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

ceiling  is  treated  in  the  same  way,  the  strips  of  mould- 
ing being  applied  in  some  simple  design.  Of  real  wood- 
carving  there  is  practically  none,  though  the  doors  are 
panelled  in  great  variety  and  the  principle  of  the  lattice 
is  much  used.     There  may  also  be  a  fireplace,  not  set 


A  house  at  x\ya  Kapou 


off  by  a  mantel,  but  by  a  tall  pointed  hood.  And  if  there 
is  a  second  tier  of  windows  they  may  contain  stained  glass 
or  some  interesting  scheme  of  mullioning.  But  do  not 
look  for  chairs,  tables,  draperies,  pictures,  or  any  of  the 
thousand  gimcracks  of  the  West  that  only  fill  a  room 
without  beautifying  it.  A  long  low  divan  runs  under 
the  N\incl()\\s,  the  whole  length  of  the  wall,  or  perhaps  of 
two,    furnished    with    rugs    and    emI)roidered    cushions. 


STAxMBOUL  13 

Other  rugs,  as  fine  as  you  please,  cover  the  floor.  Of 
wall  space  there  is  mercifully  very  little,  for  the  windows 
crowd  so  closely  together  that  there  is  no  room  to  put 
anything  between  them,  and  the  y'lew  is  consciously  made 
the  chief  ornament  of  the  room.      Still,  on  the  inner  walls 


The  house  of  the  pipe 


may  hang  a  text  or  two,  written  by  or  copied  from  some 
great  calligraphist.  The  art  of  forming  beautiful  letters 
has  been  carried  to  great  perfection  by  the  Turks,  who 
do  not  admit  — ■  or  who  until  recently  did  not  admit  — 
an}^  representation  of  living  forms.  Inscriptions,  there- 
fore, take  with  them  the  place  of  pictures,  and  they  col- 
lect the  work  of  famous  caHigraphs  as  Westerners  collect 
other  works  of  art.     While  a  real  appreciation  of  this  art 


14        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

requires  a  knowledge  which  few  foreigners  possess,  any 
foreigner  should  be  able  to  take  in  the  decorative  value 
of  the  Arabic  letters.  There  are  various  systems  of  form- 
ing them,  and  there  is  no  limit  to  the  number  of  ways  in 
which  they  may  be  grouped.  By  adding  to  an  inscrip- 
tion its  reverse,  it  is  possible  to  make  a  symmetrical  figure 
w^hich  sometimes  resembles  a  mosque,  or  the  letters  may 
be  fancifully  made  to  suggest  a  bird  or  a  ship.  Texts 
from  the  Koran,  invocations  of  the  Almighty,  the  names 
of  the  cahphs  and  of  the  companions  of  the  Prophet, 
and  verses  of  Persian  poetry  are  all  favourite  subjects 
for  the  calligrapher.  I  have  also  seen  what  might  very 
hterally  be  called  a  word-picture  of  the  Prophet.  To 
paint  a  portrait  of  him  would  contravene  all  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  cult;  but  there  exists  a  famous  description 
of  him  w^hich  is  sometimes  written  in  a  circle,  as  it  were 
the  outhne  of  a  head,  on  an  illuminated  panel. 

However,  I  did  not  start  out  to  describe  the  interior 
of  Stamboul,  of  which  I  know  as  little  as  any  man. 
That,  indeed,  is  one  element  of  the  charm  of  Stamboul  — 
the  sense  of  reserve,  of  impenetrability,  that  pervades  its 
Turkish  quarters.  The  lattices  of  the  window^s,  the  veils 
of  the  women,  the  high  garden  walls,  the  gravity  and  per- 
fect quiet  of  the  streets  at  night,  all  contribute  to  that 
sense.  From  the  noisy  European  quarter  on  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  Golden  Horn,  where  life  is  a  thing  of  shreds 
and  patches,  w^ithout  coherent  associations  and  without 
roots,  one  looks  over  to  Stamboul  and  gets  the  sense  of 
another,  an  unknown  hfe,  reaching  out  secret  filaments 
to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth.  Strange  faces, 
strange  costumes,  strange  dialects  come  and  go,  on  errands 
not  necessarily  too  mysterious,  yet  mysterious  enough 
for  one  who  knows  nothing  of  the  hterature  of  the  East, 
its   habits,    its   real   thought   and   hope   and   behef.     We 


STAiMBOUL  15 

speak  glibly  of  knowing  Turkey  and  the  Turks  —  we  who 
have  hved  five  or  ten  or  fifty  years  among  them;  but  very 
few  of  us,  I  notice,  have  ever  known  them  well  enough  to 
learn  their  language  or  read  their  books.  And  so  into 
Stamboul  we  all  go  as  outsiders.  Yet  there  are  aspects 
of  Stamboul  which  are  not  so  inaccessible.  Stamboul  at 
work,  Stamboul  as  a  market-place,  is  a  Stamboul  which 
welcomes  the  intruder  —  albeit  with  her  customary 
gravity:  if  a  man  buttonholes  you  in  the  street  and  in- 
sists that  you  look  at  his  wares  you  may  be  sure  that  he 
is  no  Turk.  This  is  also  a  Stamboul  which  has  never 
been,  which  never  can  be,  sufficiently  celebrated.  The 
Bazaars,  to  be  sure,  figure  in  all  the  books  of  travel,  and 
are  visited  by  every  one;  but  they  are  rather  sighed  over 
nowadays,  as  having  lost  a  former  glory.  I  do  not  sigh 
over  them,  myself.  I  consider  that  by  its  very  arrange- 
ment the  Grand  Bazaar  possesses  an  interest  which  can 
never  disappear.  It  is  a  sort  of  vast  department  store, 
on  one  floor  though  not  on  one  level,  whose  cobbled  aisles 
wander  up  hill  and  down  dale,  and  are  vaulted  sofidly 
over  with  stone.  And  in  old  times,  before  the  shops  or 
costumes  of  Pera  were,  and  when  the  beau  monde  came 
here  to  buy,  a  wonderful  department  store  it  must  have 
been.  In  our  economic  days  there  may  be  less  splendour, 
but  there  can  hardly  be  less  fife;  and  if  Manchester 
prints  now  largely  take  the  place  of  Broussa  silk  and 
Scutari  velvet,  they  have  just  as  much  colour  for  the 
modern  impressionist.  They  also  contribute  to  the  essen- 
tial colour  of  Constantinople,  which  is  neither  Asiatic 
nor  European,  but  a  mingfing  of  both. 

A  last  fragment  of  old  Stamboul  is  wafied  in  the 
heart  of  this  maze,  a  square  enclosure  of  deeper  twilight 
which  is  called  the  Bezesten.  Tradition  has  it  that  the 
shopkeepers  of  the  Bezesten  originafiy  served  God  as  weH 


i6        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

as  mammon,  and  were  required  to  give  a  certain  amount 
of  time  to  their  mosques.  Be  that  as  it  may,  they  still 
dress  in  robe  and  turban,  and  they  keep  shorter  hours 
than  their  brethren  of  the  outer  bazaar.  They  sit  at 
the  receipt  of  custom,  not  in  shops  but  on  continuous 
platforms,  grave  old  men  to  ^^'hom  it  is  apparently  one 
whether  you  come  or  go,  each  before  his  own  shelf  and 
cupboard  inlaid  wath  mother-of-pearl;  and  they  deal 
only  in  old  things.  I  do  not  call  them  antiques,  though 
such  things  may  still  be  picked  up  —  for  their  price  — 
in  the  Bezesten  and  out  of  it,  and  though  the  word  is 
often  on  the  lips  of  the  old  men.  I  will  say  for  them, 
however,  that  on  their  hps  it  merely  means  something 
exceptional  of  its  kind.  They  could  recommend  you 
an  egg  or  a  spring  Iamb  no  more  highly  than  by  call- 
ing it  antika.  At  any  rate,  the  Bezesten  is  almost  a  little 
too  good  to  be  true.  It  might  have  been  arranged  by 
some  Gerome  who  studied  the  exact  effect  of  dusty  shafts 
of  light  striking  down  from  high  windows  on  the  most 
picturesque  confusion  of  old  things  —  stuffs,  arms,  rugs, 
brasses,  porcelain,  jewelry,  silver,  odds  and  ends  of 
bric-a-brac.  In  that  romantic  twilight  an  antique  made 
in  Germany  becomes  precious,  and  the  most  abominable 
modern  rug  takes  on  the  tone  of  time. 

The  real  rug  market  of  Constantinople  is  not  in  the 
Bazaars  nor  yet  in  the  bans  of  Mahmoud  Pasha,  but  in 
the  Stamboul  custom-house.  There  the  bales  that 
come  down  from  Persia  and  the  Caucasus,  as  well  as 
from  Asia  Minor  and  even  from  India  and  China,  are 
opened  and  stored  in  great  piles  of  colour,  and  there 
the  wholesale  dealers  of  Europe  and  America  do  most 
of  their  buying.  The  rugs  are  sold  by  the  square  metre 
in  the  bale,  so  that  you  may  buy  a  hunched  pieces  m 
order  to  get  one  or  two  you   particularly  want.      Burly 


STAMBOUL  17 

Turkish  porters  or  black-capped  Persians  are  there  to 
turn  over  the  rugs  for  you,  shaking  out  the  dust  of 
Asia  into  the  European  air.  Bargaining  is  no  less  long 
and  fierce  than  in  the  smaller  affairs  of  the  Bazaars, 
though  both  sides  know  better  what  they  are  up  to. 
Perhaps  it  is  for  this  reason  that  the  sale  is  often  made 
by  a  third  party.  The  referee,  having  first  obtained 
the  consent  of  the  principals  to  abide  by  his  decision  — 
"Have  you  content?"  is  what  he  asks  them — makes 
each  sign  his  name  in  a  note-book,  in  which  he  then 
writes  the  compromise  price,  saying,  "Sh-sh!"  if  they 
protest.  Or  else  he  takes  a  hand  of  each  between  both 
of  his  own  and  names  the  price  as  he  shakes  the  hands 
up  and  down,  the  others  crying  out:  "Aman!  Do  not 
scorch  me!"  Then  coffees  are  served  all  around  and 
everybody  departs  happy.  As  communications  become 
easier  the  buyers  go  more  and  more  to  the  headquarters 
of  rug-making,  so  that  Constantinople  will  not  remain 
indefinitely  what  it  is  now,  the  greatest  rug  market  in  the 
world.  But  it  will  long  be  the  chief  assembhng  and 
distributing  point  for  this  ancient  trade. 

There  are  two  other  covered  markets,  both  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Bridge,  which  I  recommend  to  all  hunters 
after  local  colour.  The  more  important,  from  an  archi- 
tectural point  of  view,  is  called  Missir  Charshi,  Corn  or 
Eg3'ptian  Market,  though  Europeans  know  it  as  the 
Spice  Bazaar.  It  consists  of  two  vaulted  stone  streets 
that  cross  each  other  at  right  angles.  It  was  so  badly 
damaged  in  the  earthquake  of  1894  that  many  of  its 
original  tenants  moved  away,  giving  place  to  stuffy  quilt 
and  upholstery  men.  Enough  of  the  former  are  left, 
however,  to  make  a  museum  of  strange  powders  and 
electuaries,  and  to  fill  the  air  with  the  aroma  of  the 
East.     And  the  quaint  woodwork  of  the  shops,  the  dusty 


1 8        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

little  ships  and  mosques  that  hang  as  signs  above  them, 
the  decorative  black  frescoing  of  the  walls,  are  quite  as 
good  in  their  way  as  the  Bezesten.  The  Dried  Fruit 
Bazaar,  I  am  afraid,  is  a  less  permanent  piece  of  old 
Stamboul.  It  is  sure  to  burn  up  or  to  be  torn  down 
one  of  these  days,  because  it  is  a  section  of  the  long 
street  —  almost  the  only  level  one  in  the  city  —  that 
skirts  the  Golden  Horn.  I  hope  it  will  not  disappear, 
however,  before  some  etcher  has  caught  the  duskiness 
of  its  branching  curve,  with  squares  of  sky  irregularly 
spaced  among  the  wooden  rafters,  and  corresponding 
squares  of  light  on  the  cobblestones  below,  and  a  dark 
side  corridor  or  two  running  down  to  a  bright  perspec- 
tive of  water  and  ships.  All  sorts  of  nuts  and  dried 
fruits  are  sold  there,  in  odd  company  with  candles  and 
the  white  ribbons  and  artificial  flowers  without  which 
no  Greek  or  Armenian  can  be  properly  married. 

This  whole  quarter  is  one  of  markets,  and  some  of 
them  were  old  in  Byzantine  times.  The  fish  market,  one 
of  the  richest  in  the  world,  is  here.  The  vegetable 
market  is  here,  too,  at  the  head  of  the  outer  bridge, 
where  it  can  be  fed  by  the  boats  of  the  Marmora.  And 
all  night  long  horse  bells  jingle  through  the  city,  bring- 
ing produce  which  is  sold  in  the  public  square  in  the 
small  hours  of  the  morning.  Provisions  of  other  kinds, 
some  of  them  strange  to  behold  and  stranger  to  smell, 
are  to  be  had  in  the  same  region.  In  the  purlieus  of 
Yeni  Jami,  too,  may  be  admired  at  its  season  a  kind  of 
market  which  is  a  specialty  of  Constantinople.  The 
better  part  of  it  is  installed  in  the  mosque  yard,  where 
cloth  and  girdles  and  shoes  and  other  commodities  meet 
for  the  raiment  of  man  and  woman  are  sold  under  awn- 
ings or  big  canvas  umbrellas.  But  other  sections  of  it, 
as  the  copper   market  and   the  flower  market,  overflow 


STAAIBOUL  19 

beyond  the  Spice  Bazaar.  The  particularity  of  this 
Monday  market  is  that  it  is  gone  on  Tuesday,  being 
held  in  a  different  place  on  every  day  of  the  week.  Then 
this  is  a  district  of  bans,  which  harbour  a  commerce  of 
their  own.  Some  of  these  are  hotels,  where  comers 
from  afar  camp  out  in  tiers  of  stone  galleries  about 
an  open  court.  Others  are  places  of  business  or  of  stor- 
age, and,  as  the  latter,  are  more  properly  known  by  the 
name  kapan.  The  old  Fontego  or  Fondaco  del  Turchi 
in  Venice,  and  the  Fondaco  dei  Tedeschi,  are  built  on 
the  same  plan  and  originally  served  the  same  purpose. 
The  Italian  word  Joridaco  comes  from  the  Arabic  Jindik, 
which  in  turn  was  derived  from  the  TravBoxelov  of  Con- 
stantinople. But  whether  any  of  these  old  stone  build- 
ings might  trace  a  Byzantine  or  Venetian  ancestry 
I  cannot  say.  The  habit  of  Stamboul  to  burn  up  once 
in  so  often  made  them  very  necessary,  and  in  spite  of 
the  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  business  methods 
they  are  still  largely  used.  And  all  about  them  are 
the  headquarters  of  crafts  —  wood-turning,  basket-mak- 
ing, amber-cutting,  brass-beating  —  in  alleys  which  are 
highly  profitable  to  explore. 

One  of  the  things  that  make  those  alleys  not  least 
profitable  is  the  grape-vine  that  somehow  manages  to 
grow  in  them.  It  is  no  rarity,  I  am  happy  to  report. 
That  grape-vine  is  one  of  the  most  decorative  elements 
of  Stamboul  streets;  and  to  me,  at  least,  it  has  a  whole 
philosophy  to  telL  It  was  never  planted  for  the  profit 
of  its  fruit.  Vines  allowed  to  grow  as  those  vines  grow 
cannot  bear  very  heavily,  and  they  are  too  accessible 
for  their  grapes  to  be  guarded.  They  were  planted,  like 
the  traghetto  vines  in  Venice,  because  they  give  shade 
and  because  they  are  good  to  look  upon.  Some  of  them 
are  trained  on   wires  across  the  street,   making  of  the 


20        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

public  way  an  arbour  that  seduces  the  passer-by  to  stop 
and  taste  the  taste  of  Hfe. 

Fortunately  there  are  special  conveniences  for  this, 
in  places  where  there  are  vines  and  places  where  there 
are  not.  Such  are  the  places  that  the  arriving  traveller 
sees  from  his  train,  where  meditative  citizens  sit  cross- 
legged  of  a  morning  over  coffee  and  tobacco.  The  trav- 
eller continues  to  see  them  wherever  he  goes,  and  never 
without  a  meditative  citizen  or  two.  The  coffee-houses 
indeed  are  an  essential  part  of  Stamboul,  and  in  them  the 
outsider  comes  nearest,  perhaps,  to  intimacy  with  that 
reticent  city.  The  number  of  these  institutions  in  Con- 
stantinople is  quite  fabulous.  They  have  the  happiest 
tact  for  locality,  seeking  movement,  strategic  corners, 
open  prospects,  the  company  of  water  and  trees.  No 
quarter  is  so  miserable  or  so  remote  as  to  be  without 
one.  Certain  thoroughfares  carry  on  almost  no  other 
form  of  business.  A  sketch  of  a  coffee-shop  may  often 
be  seen  in  the  street,  in  a  scrap  of  sun  or  shade,  accord- 
ing to  the  season,  where  a  stool  or  two  invite  the  passer- 
by to  a  moment  of  contemplation.  And  no  ban  or 
public  building  is  without  its  facilities  for  dispensing  the 
indispensable. 

I  know  not  whether  the  fact  may  contribute  any- 
thing to  the  psychology  of  prohibition,  but  it  is  surprising 
to  learn  how  recent  an  invention  coffee-houses  are,  as 
time  goes  in  this  part  of  the  w^orld,  and  what  opposition 
they  first  encountered.  The  first  coffee-shop  was  opened 
in  Stamboul  in  1554,  by  one  Shemsi,  a  native  of  Aleppo. 
A  man  of  his  race  it  was,  an  Arab  dervish  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  who  is  supposed  to  have  discovered  the  prop- 
erties of  the  coffee  berry.  Shemsi  returned  to  Syria  in 
three  years,  taking  with  him  some  five  thousand  ducats 
and  httk'  Imagination  of  what  uproar  his  successful  enter- 


-.I'-v;'/' 


At- 


That  grape-vine  is  one  of  the  most  decorative  elements  of 
Stamboul  streets 


STAMBOUL 


23 


prise  was  to  cause.  The  beverage  so  quickly  appreciated 
was  as  quickly  looked  upon  by  the  orthodox  as  insidious 
to  the  pubhc  morals  —  partly  because  it  seemed  to  merit 
the  prohibition  of  the  Koran  against  intoxicants,  partly 
because  it  brought  the  faithful  together  in  places  other 
than  mosques.     "The  black  enemy  of  sleep  and  of  love," 


A  water-side  coffee-house 


as  a  poet  styled  the  Arabian  berry,  was  variously  de- 
nounced as  one  of  the  Four  Elements  of  the  World  of 
Pleasure,  one  of  the  Four  Pillars  of  the  Tent  of  Lubricity, 
one  of  the  Four  Cushions  of  the  Couch  of  Vokiptuousness, 
and  one  of  the  Four  Ministers  of  the  Devil  —  the  other 
three  being  tobacco,  opium,  and  wine.  The  name  of  the 
drug  may  have  had  something  to  do  with  the  hostihty 
it   encountered.     Kahveh,   whence   caje  and   coffee,    is   a 


24        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

slight  modification  of  an  Arabic  word  —  literally  meaning 
that  which  takes  away  the  appetite  —  which  is  one  of 
the  names  of  wine. 

Suleiman  the  Magnificent,  during  whose  reign  the 
kahveji  Shemsi  made  his  httle  fortune,  took  no  notice  of 
the  agitation  against  the  new  drink.  But  some  of  his 
successors  pursued  those  who  indulged  in  it  with  unheard- 
of  severity.  During  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  cen- 
turies coffee-drinkers  were  persecuted  more  rigorously  in 
Constantinople  than  wine-bibbers  have  ever  been  in 
England  or  America.  Their  most  unrelenting  enemy  was 
the  bloody  Mourad  IV  —  himself  a  drunkard  —  who  for- 
bade the  use  of  coffee  or  tobacco  under  pain  of  death. 
He  and  his  nephew  Mehmed  IV  after  him  used  to  patrol 
the  city  in  disguise,  d  la  Haroun  al  Rashid,  in  order  to 
detect  and  punish  for  themselves  any  violation  of  the 
law.  But  the  Greek  taverns  only  became  the  more 
popular.  And  the  latter  sultan  was  the  means  of  ex- 
tending the  habit  to  Europe  —  which,  for  the  rest,  he  no 
doubt  considered  its  proper  habitat.  To  be  sure,  it  was 
merely  during  his  reign  that  the  English  made  their  first 
acquaintance  of  our  after-dinner  friend.  It  was  brought 
back  from  Smyrna  in  1652  by  a  Mr.  Edwards,  member 
of  the  Levant  Company,  whose  house  was  so  besieged 
by  those  curious  to  taste  the  strange  concoction  that  he 
set  up  his  Greek  servant  in  the  first  coffee-house  in 
London.  There,  too,  coffee  was  soon  looked  upon  askance 
in  high  places.  A  personage  no  more  strait-laced  than 
Charles  II  caused  a  court  to  hand  dow^n  the  following 
decision:  "The  Retayhng  of  Coffee  may  be  an  innoccnte 
Trayde;  but  as  it  is  used  to  nourysshe  Sedition,  spredde 
Lyes,  and  scandalyse  Create  Menne,  it  may  also  be  a 
common  Nuisauncc."  In  the  meantime  an  envoy  of 
Mehmed   IV  introduced  coffee  in    1669  to  the  court  of 


STAMBOUL  25 

Louis  XIV.  And  Vienna  acquired  the  habit  fourteen 
years  later,  when  that  capital  was  besieged  by  the  same 
sultan.  After  the  rout  of  the  Turks  by  John  Sobiesky, 
a  vast  quantity  of  the  fragrant  brown  drug  was  found 
among  the  besiegers'  stores.  Its  use  was  made  known  to 
the  Viennese  by  a  Pole  who  had  been  interpreter  to  a 
company  of  Austrian  merchants  in  Constantinople.  For 
his  bravery  in  carrying  messages  through  the  Turkish 
lines  he  was  given  the  right  to  estabhsh  the  first  coffee- 
house in  Vienna. 

The  history  of  tobacco  in  Turkey  was  very  much  the 
same.  It  first  appeared  from  the  West  in  1605,  during 
the  reign  of  Ahmed  I.  Under  Mourad  IV  a  famous 
pamphlet  was  written  against  it  by  an  unconscious  fore- 
runner of  modernity,  who  also  advocated  a  mediaeval 
Postum  made  of  bean  pods.  Snuff  became  known  in 
1642  as  an  attempt  to  ehide  the  repressive  laws  of  Sultan 
Ibrahim.  But  the  habit  of  smoking,  hke  the  taste  for 
coffee,  gained  such  headway  that  no  one  could  stop  it. 
Mahmoud  I  was  the  last  sultan  who  attempted  to  do  so, 
when  he  closed  the  coffee-houses  for  pohtical  reasons  in 

1730- 

There  is,  it  is  true,  a  coffee  habit,  whose  abuse  is  no 
less  demorahsing  than  that  of  any  other  drug.  But  it  is 
so  rare,  and  Stamboul  coffee-houses  are  so  different  from 
American  or  even  most  European  cafes,  that  it  is  hard 
to  imagine  their  causing  so  much  commotion.  Nothing 
stronger  than  coffee  is  dispensed  in  them  —  unless  I  ex- 
cept the  nargileh,  the  water-pipe,  whose  effect  is  wonder- 
fully soothing  and  innocent  at  first,  though  wonderfully 
deadly  in  the  end  to  the  novice.  The  tobacco  used  is  not 
the  ordinary  weed  but  a  much  coarser  and  stronger  one, 
called  toumheki.  Smoking  is  the  more  germane  to  coffee- 
shops,  because  in  the  Turkish  idiom  you  drink  tobacco. 


26        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

You  may  also  drink  tea,  in  little  glasses,  as  the  Persians 
do.  And  to  desecrate  it,  or  coffee  either,  with  the  ad- 
mixture of  milk  is  an  unheard-of  sacrilege.  But  you  may 
content  yourself  with  so  mild  a  refreshment  as  a  bit  of 


"Drinking"  a  nargilch 

rahat  locoum,  more  familiar  to  you,  perhaps,  as  Turkish 
Dehght,  and  a  glass  of  water. 

The  etiquette  of  the  coffee-house,  of  those  coffee- 
houses which  have  not  been  too  much  infected  by  Europe, 
is  one  of  their  most  characteristic  features.  I  have  seen 
a  newcomer  sahite  one  after  another  each  person  in  a 
crowded  coffee-room,  once  on  entering  the  door,  and 
again  on  taking  his  seat,  and  be  so  saluted  in  return  — - 
either  by  putting  the  right  hand  on  the  heart  and  utter- 
ing the  greeting  merhaha,  or  by  making  the  temenna,  that 


STAMBOUL  27 

triple  sweep  of  the  hand  which  is  the  most  graceful  of 
salutes.  I  have  also  seen  the  entire  company  rise  on  the 
entrance  of  an  old  man,  and  yield  him  the  corner  of  hon- 
our.    As  for  the  essential  function  of  the  coffee-house,  it 


Fez-presser  in  a  coffee-house 

has  its  own  traditions.  A  glass  of  water  comes  with  the 
coffee,  and  a  foreigner  can  usually  be  detected  by  the 
order  in  which  he  takes  them.  A  Turk  sips  his  water 
first.  He  lifts  his  coffee-cup,  whether  it  possess  a  handle 
or  no,  by  the  saucer,  managing  the  two  in  a  dexterous 
way  of  his  own.  And  custom  favours  a  rather  noisy  en- 
joyment of  the  cup  that  cheers,  as  expressing  apprecia- 
tion and  general  well-being.  The  current  price  for  a 
coffee,  in  the  heart  of  Stamboul,  is  ten  para  —  some- 
thing hke  a  penny  —  for  which  the  waiter  will  say:  "May 
God  give  you  blessing."     Mark,  too,  that  you  do  not  tip 


28        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

him.  I  have  often  been  surprised  to  be  charged  no  more 
than  the  tariff,  although  I  gave  a  larger  piece  to  be 
changed,  and  it  was  perfectly  evident  that  I  was  a 
foreigner.  That  is  an  experience  which  rarely  befalls  a 
traveller  even  in  his  own  land.  It  has  further  happened 
to  me  to  be  charged  nothing  at  all,  nay,  to  be  steadfastly 
refused  when  I  persisted  in  attempting  to  pay,  simply 
because  I  was  a  traveller,  and  therefore  a  "guest." 

Altogether  the  habit  of  the  coffee-house  is  one  that 
requires  a  certain  leisure.  Being  a  passion  less  violent 
and  less  shameful  than  others,  I  suppose,  it  is  indulged 
in  with  more  of  the  humanities.  You  do  not  bolt  coffee 
as  you  bolt  the  fire-waters  of  the  West,  without  ceremony, 
in  retreats  withdrawn  from  the  pubhc  eye.  Neither,  hav- 
ing taken  coffee,  do  you  leave  the  coffee-house.  On  the 
contrary,  there  are  reasons  why  you  should  stay  —  and 
not  only  to  take  another  coffee.  There  are  benches  to 
curl  up  on,  if  you  would  do  as  the  Romans  do,  having 
first  neatly  put  off  your  shoes  from  off  your  feet.  There 
are  texts  and  patriotic  pictures  to  look  at,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  wonderful  brass  arrangements  wherein  the  kahveji 
concocts  his  mysteries.  There  is,  of  course,  the  view. 
To  enjoy  it  you  sit  on  a  low  rush-bottomed  stool  in  front 
of  the  coffee-shop,  under  a  grape-vine,  perhaps,  or  a 
scented  wistaria,  or  a  bough  of  a  neighbourly  plane-tree; 
and  if  you  like  you  may  have  an  aromatic  pot  of  basil 
beside  you  to  keep  away  the  flies.  Then  there  are  more 
active  distractions.  For  coffee-houses  are  also  barber 
shops,  where  men  cause  to  be  shaved  not  only  their  chins 
but  different  parts  of  their  crowns,  according  to  their 
countries;  and  a  festoon  of  teeth  on  a  string  or  a  sugges- 
tive jar  of  leeches  reminds  you  how  catholic  was  once 
the  art  of  the  barber  in  other  parts  of  the  world.  There 
is    also   the    resource   of  <iames   —such    as    backgammon, 


STAiMBOUL 


29 


which  is  called  tavli  and  played  in  Persian,  and  draughts, 
and  cards.  They  say,  indeed,  that  bridge  came  from 
Constantinople.  There  is  a  chib  in  Pera  which  claims 
the  honour  of  having  communicated  that  passion  to  the 


Playing  taiii 


Western  world.  But  I  must  confess  that  I  have  yet  to 
see  an  open  hand  of  the  long  narrow  cards  you  find  in  a 
coffee-house. 

The  great  resource  of  coffee-houses,  however,  is  the 
company  you  meet  there.  The  company  is  better  at 
certain  hours  than  at  others.  Early  in  the  day  the 
majority  of  the  habitues  may  be  at  work,  while  late 
in  the  evening  they  will  have  disappeared  altogether. 
For  Stamboul  has  not  quite  forgotten  the  habits  of  the 
tent.     At  night  it  is  a  deserted  city.     But  just  before 


30        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

and  just  after  dark  the  coffee-houses  are  full  of  a  colour 
which   an   outsider   is   often   content   to   watch   through 
lighted    windows.     They    are    the    clubs    of  the    poorer 
classes.     Men  of  a  street,  a  trade,  or  a  province  meet 
regularly   at   coffee-houses   kept   often   by    one  of  their 
own   people.     So    much   are   the    humbler  coffee-houses 
frequented  by  a  fixed  clientele  that  the  most  vagrant  im- 
pressionist can  realise  how^  truly  the  old  Turkish  writers 
called  them  Schools  of  Knowledge.     Schools  of  knowledge 
they  must  be,  indeed,  for  those  capable  of  taking  part  in 
their  councils.     Even  for  one  who  is  not,  they  are  full 
of  information  about  the  people  who  live  in  Stamboul, 
the  variety  of  clothes  they  wear,  the  number  of  dialects 
they  speak,  the  infinity  of  places  they  come  from.     I  am 
at  the  end  of  my  chapter  and  I  cannot  stop  to  descant 
on  these  things  —  much  less  on  the  historic  guilds  which 
still  subsist  in  the  coffee-house  w^orld.     The  guilds  are 
nearly  at  the  end  of  their  chapter,  too.     Constitutions 
and  changes  more  radical  are  turning  them  into  some- 
thing more   like   modern   trade-unions.     Their  tradition 
is   still   vivid   enough,   though,  for   it  to   be   written,  as 
in   the   laws  of  iMedcs  and  Persians,  that  no   man   but 
one  of  Iran  shall  drive  a  house-builder's  donkey;  that 
only  a  Mohammedan   Albanian  of  the  south  shall   lay 
a    pavement    or   a   southern   Albanian   who   is  a  Chris- 
tian and  wears  an  orange  girdle  shall  lay  railroad  ties; 
that   none    save  a    landlubber    from    the    hinterland    of 
the  Black  Sea  may  row  a  caique  or,  they  of  Konia  peddle 

yo*ourt,  or 

It  is  no  use  for  me  to  go  on.  I  would  fill  pages  and 
I  probably  would  not  make  it  any  clearer  how  clannish 
these  men  are.  Other  things  about  them  are  just  as 
interesting  —  to  the  race  of  men  that  likes  Stamboul. 
That  first  question,  for  instance,  that  comes  to  one  on 


STAMBOUL 


31 


the  arriving  train,  at  the  sight  of  so  many  leisurely  and 
meditative  persons,  returns  again  and  again  to  the  mind. 
How  is  it  that  these  who  burst  once  out  of  the  East  with 
so  much  noise  and  terror,  who  battered  their  way  through 
the  walls  of  this  city  and  carried  the  green  standard  of 
the  Prophet  to  the  gates  of  Vienna,  sit  here  now  rolling 


The  plane-tree  of  Chengel-kyoi 

cigarettes  and  sipping  httle  cups  of  coffee?  Some  con- 
clude that  their  course  is  run,  while  others  upbraid  them 
for  wasting  so  their  time.  For  my  part,  I  like  to  think 
that  such  extremes  may  argue  a  complexity  of  character 
for  whose  unfolding  it  would  be  wise  to  wait.  I  also 
hke  to  think  that  there  may  be  some  people  in  the  world 
for  whom  time  is  more  than  money.  At  any  rate,  it 
pleases  me  that  all  the  people  in  the  world  are  not  the 
same.     It  pleases   me  that   some   are  content  to   sit   in 


32        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

coffee-houses,  to  enjoy  simple  pleasures,  to  watch  common 
spectacles,  to  find  that  in  fife  which  every  one  may  pos- 
sess —  fight,  growing  things,  the  movement  of  water, 
and  an  outlook  on  the  ways  of  men. 


II 

MOSQUE   YARDS 

I  OFTEN  wonder  what  a  Turk,  a  Turk  of  the  people, 
would  make  of  a  Western  church.  In  an  old  cathedral 
close,  perhaps,  he  might  feel  to  a  degree  at  home.  The 
architecture  of  the  building  would  set  it  apart  from 
those  about  it,  the  canons'  houses  and  other  subsidiary 
structures  would  not  seem  unnatural  to  him,  and,  though 
the  arrangement  of  the  interior  would  be  foreign,  he 
would  probably  understand  in  what  manner  of  place 
he  was  —  and  his  religion  would  permit  him  to  worship 
there  in  his  own  way.  But  a  modern  city  church,  and 
particularly  an  American  city  church,  would  offer  ahnost 
nothing  famihar  to  him.  It  would,  very  likely,  be  less 
monumental  in  appearance  than  neighbouring  buildings. 
There  would  be  Kttle  or  no  open  space  about  it.  And 
strangest  of  all  would  be  the  entire  absence  of  life  about 
the  place  for  six  days  out  of  seven.  The  most  active 
institutional  church  can  never  give  the  sense  a  mosque 
does  of  being  a  living  organism,  an  acknowledged  focus 
of  Hfc.  The  larger  mosques  are  open  every  day  and  all 
day,  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  while  even  the  smallest  is 
accessible  for  the  five  daily  hours  of  prayer.  And,  what 
is  more,  people  go  to  them.  Nor  do  they  go  to  them 
as  New^  Yorkers  sometimes  step  into  a  down-town 
church  at  noontime,  feeling  either  exceptionally  pious  or 
a  little  uneasy  lest  some  one  catch  them  in  the  act.  It 
is  as  much  a  matter  of  course  as  any  other  habit  of  life, 

33 


34        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

and  as  little  one  to  be  self-conscious  about.  By  which 
I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  there  are  neither  dissenters 
nor  sceptics  in  Islam.  I  merely  mean  that  Islam  seems 
to  be  a  far  more  vital  and  central  force  with  the  mass 
of  those  who  profess  it  than  Protestant  Christianity. 

However,  I  did  not  set  out  to  compare  religions. 
All  I  wish  is  to  point  out  the  importance  of  mosques 
and  their  precincts  in  the  picture  of  Constantinople. 
The  yards  of  the  imperial  mosques  take  the  place,  in 
Stamboul,  of  squares  and  parks.  Even  many  a  smaller 
mosque  enjoys  an  amplitude  of  perspective  that  might 
be  envied  by  cathedrals  like  Chartres,  or  Cologne,  or 
Milan.  These  roomy  enclosures  are  surrounded  by  the 
windowed  walls  which  I  have  already  celebrated.  Within 
them  cypresses  are  wont  to  cluster,  and  plane-trees  will- 
ingly cast  their  giant  shadow.  Gravestones  also  con- 
gregate there.  And  there  a  centre  of  life  is  which  can 
never  lack  interest  for  the  race  of  men  that  likes  Stam- 
boul. Scribes  sit  under  the  trees  ready  to  write  let- 
ters for  soldiers,  women,  and  others  of  the  less  literate 
sort.  Seal  cutters  ply  their  cognate  trade,  and  cut  your 
name  on  a  bit  of  brass  almost  as  quickly  as  you  can 
write  it.  Barbers,  distinguishable  by  a  brass  plate  with 
a  nick  in  it  for  your  chin,  are  ready  to  exercise  another 
art  upon  your  person.  Pcdiers  come  and  go,  selling 
beads,  perfumes,  fezzes,  and  sweets  which  they  carry  on 
their  heads  in  big  wooden  trays,  and  drinks  which  may 
tempt  you  less  than  their  brass  receptacles.  A  more 
stable  commerce  is  visible  in  some  mosque  yards,  or  on 
the  day  of  the  week  when  a  peripatetic  market  elects 
to  pitch  its  tents  there;  and  coffee-houses,  of  course, 
abound.  Not  that  there  arc  coffee-houses  in  every 
mosque  yard.  I  know  one  small  mosque  yard,  that  of 
Mahmoud    Pasha  —  off  the   busy   street   of  that   name 


MOSQUE   YARDS 


35 


leading  to  the  Bazaars  —  which  is  entirely  given  up  to 
coffee-houses.  And  a  perfect  mosque  yard  it  is,  grove- 
hke  with  trees  and  looked  upon  by  a  great  portico  of 
the  time  of  the  Conqueror.  There  is  something  both 
grave  and  human  about  mosque  yards  and  coffee-houses 
both   that   excellently   suits   them  to   each   other.     The 


The  yard  of  Hekim-zadeh  AH  Pasha 

combination  is  one  that  I,  at  any  rate,  am  incapable  of 
resisting.  I  dare  not  guess  how  many  days  of  my  hfe 
I  have  I  cannot  say  wasted  in  the  coffee-houses  of  Mah- 
moud  Pasha,  and  Yeni  Jami,  and  Baiezid,  and  Shah- 
zadeh,  and  Fatih.  The  company  has  an  ecclesiastical 
tinge.  Turbans  bob  much  together  and  the  neighbour- 
ing fountains  of  ablution  play  a  part  in  the  scene.  And 
if  the  company  does  not  disperse  altogether  it  thins  very 
much  when  the  voice  of  the  miiezin,  the  chanter,  sounds 


36        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

from  his  high  white  tower.  "God  is  most  great!"  he 
chants  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  earth.  "I  bear  wit- 
ness that  there  is  not  a  god  save  God!  I  bear  witness 
that  Mohammed  is  the  Prophet  of  God!  Hasten  to  the 
worship  of  God!  Hasten  to  permanent  blessedness! 
God  is  most  great!" 

In  the  mosque  the  atmosphere  is  very  much  that  of 
the  mosque  yard.  There  may  be  more  reverence,  per- 
haps, but  people  evidently  feel  very  much  at  home. 
Men  meet  there  out  of  prayer  time,  and  women  too,  for 
w^hat  looks  like,  though  it  may  not  always  be,  a  sacra  con- 
versazione of  the  painters.  Students  con  over  their  Koran, 
rocking  to  and  fro  on  a  cushion  in  front  of  a  little  mlaid 
table.  Sohtary  devotees  prostrate  themselves  in  a  cor- 
ner, untroubled  by  children  playing  among  the  pillars  or 
a  turbaned  professor  lecturing,  cross-legged,  to  a  cross- 
legged  class  in  theology.  The  galleries  of  some  mosques 
are  safety-deposit  vaults  for  their  parishioners,  and  when 
the  parish  burns  down  the  parishioners  deposit  them- 
selves there  too.  After  the  greater  conflagration  of  the 
Balkan  War  thousands  of  homeless  refugees  from  Thrace 
and  Macedonia  camped  out  for  months  in  the  mosques 
of  StambouL  Even  the  pigeons  that  haunt  so  many 
mosque  yards  know  that  the  doors  are  always  open,  and 
are  scarcely  to  be  persuaded  from  taking  up  then-  per- 
manent abode  on  tiled  cornices  or  among  the  marble 
stalactites  of  capitals. 

One  thing  that  makes  a  mosque  look  more  hospitable 
than  a  church  is  its  arrangement.  There  are  no  seats  or 
aisles  to  cut  up  the  floor.  Matting  is  spread  there,  over 
which  are  laid  in  winter  the  carpets  of  the  country;  and 
before  you  step  on  to  this  clean  covering  you  put  off 
your  shoes  from  ofl"  your  feet  —  unless  you  shuffle  about 
in  the  big  slippers  that  are  kept  in  some  mosques  for  for- 


From  an  etching  by  Ernest  D.  Roth 

"The  Little  Mosque" 


MOSQUE   YARDS  39 

eign  visitors.  The  general  impression  is  that  of  a  private 
interior  magnified  and  dignified.  The  central  object  of 
this  open  space  is  the  mihrab,  a  niche  pointing  toward 
Mecca.  It  is  usually  set  in  an  apse  which  is  raised  a 
step  above  the  level  of  the  nave.  In  it  is  a  prayer-rug 
for  the  imam,  and  on  each  side,  in  a  brass  or  silver  stand- 
ard, an  immense  candle,  which  is  lighted  only  on  the 
seven  holy  nights  of  the  year  and  during  Ramazan.  At 
the  right  of  the  mihrab,  as  you  face  it,  stands  the  mimher, 
a  sort  of  pulpit,  at  the  top  of  a  stairway  and  covered 
by  a  pointed  canopy,  which  is  used  only  for  the  noon 
prayer  of  Friday  or  on  other  special  occasions.  To  the 
left,  and  nearer  the  door,  is  a  smaller  pulpit  called  the 
kiirsi.  This  is  a  big  cushioned  armchair  or  throne, 
reached  by  a  short  ladder,  where  the  imam  sits  to  speak 
on  ordinary  occasions.  There  will  also  be  one  or  more 
galleries  for  singers,  and  in  larger  mosques,  usually  at 
the  mihrab  end  of  the  left-hand  gallery,  an  imperial  trib- 
une enclosed  by  grille  work  and  containing  its  own  sacred 
niche.  The  chandeliers  are  a  noticeable  feature  of  every 
mosque,  hanging  very  low  and  containing  not  candles 
but  glass  cups  of  oil  with  a  floating  wick.  I  am  afraid, 
however,  that  this  soft  light  will  be  presently  turned  into 
electricity.  From  the  chandeliers  often  hang  ostrich 
eggs  —  emblems  of  eternity  —  and  other  homely  orna- 
ments. 

The  place  of  the  mosque  in  the  Turkish  community  is 
symbolised,  like  that  of  the  mediaeval  cathedral,  by  its 
architectural  pre-eminence.  Mark,  however,  that  Stam- 
boul  has  half  a  dozen  cathedrals  instead  of  one.  It  would 
be  hard  to  overestimate  how  much  of  the  character  of 
Stamboul  depends  on  the  domes  and  minarets  that  so 
inimitably  accident  the  heights  between  the  Golden 
Horn  and  the  Marmora.     And  on  closer  acquaintance  the 


40 


CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 


mosques  are  found  to  contain  almost  all  that  Stamboul 
has  of  architectural  pretension.  They  form  an  achieve- 
ment, to  my  mind,  much  greater  than  the  world  at  large 
seems  to  realise.     The  easy  current  dictum  that  they  are 


Entrance  to  the  forecourt  of  Sultan  Baiezid  II 


merely  more  or  less  successful  imitations  of  St.  Sophia 
takes  no  account  of  the  evolution  —  particularly  of  the 
central  dome  —  which  may  be  traced  through  the  mosques 
of  Konia,  Broussa,  and  Adrianople,  and  which  reaches 
its  legitimate  climax  in  Stamboul.  The  likelier  fact  is 
that  the  mosque  of  Stamboul,  inspired  by  the  same  re- 
mote Asiatic  Impulse  as  the  Byzantine  church,  absorbed 


MOSQUE   YARDS 


41 


what  was  proper  to  it  in  Byzantine  art,  refining  away  the 
heaviness  or  overfloridness  of  the  East,  until  in  the  hands 
of  a  master  Hke  Sinan  it  attained  a  supreme  elegance 
without  losing  any  of  its  dignity.     Yet  it  would  be  a 


TgrnMiTrmifrrTM 


MaUk 


Detail  of  the  Siileimanieh 


mistake  to  look  for  all  Turkish  architecture  in  Sinan. 
The  mosques  of  Atik  Ah  Pasha  and  of  Sultan  Bai'ezid  II 
are  there  to  prove  of  what  mingled  simpHcity  and  nobihty 
was  capable  an  obscure  architect  of  an  earlier  century. 
His  name  is  supposed  to  have  been  Haireddin,  and  he, 
first  among  the  Turks,  used  the  monohthic  shaft  and  the 
stalactite  capitaL     How  perfect  they  are,  though,  in  the 


42        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

arcades  of  Baiezid!  Nothing  could  be  better  in  its  way 
than  the  forecourt  of  that  mosque,  and  its  inlaid  min- 
arets are  unique  of  their  kind.  Nor  did  architecture  die 
with  Sinan.  Yeni  Jami,  looking  at  Galata  along  the 
outer  bridge,  is  witness  thereof.  The  pile  of  the  Siilei- 
manieh,  whose  four  minarets  catch  your  eye  from  so 
many  points  of  the  compass,  is  perhaps  more  mascuHne. 
But  the  silhouette  of  Yeni  Jami,  that  mosque  of  prin- 
cesses, has  an  inimitable  grace.  The  way  in  which  each 
structural  necessity  adds  to  the  general  effect,  the  cH- 
mactic  building  up  of  buttress  and  cupola,  the  curve  of  the 
dome,  the  proportion  of  the  minarets,  could  hardly  be 
more  perfect.  Although  brought  up  in  the  vociferous 
tradition  of  Ruskin,  I  am  so  far  unfaithful  to  the  creed 
of  my  youth  as  to  fmd  pleasure,  too,  in  rococo  mosques 
like  Zeineb  Sultan,  Nouri  Osmanieh,  and  Laleli  Jami. 
And  the  present  generation,  under  men  like  Vedad  Bey 
and  the  architects  of  the  Evkaf,  are  reviving  their  art  in 
a  new  and  interesting  direction. 

To  give  any  comprehensive  account  of  the  mosques 
of  Stamboul  would  be  to  write  a  history  of  Ottoman  archi- 
tecture, and  for  that  I  lack  both  space  and  competence. 
I  may,  however,  as  an  irresponsible  lounger  in  mosque 
yards,  touch  on  one  or  two  characteristic  aspects  of 
mosques  and  their  decoration  which  strike  a  foreigner's 
eye.  The  frescoing  or  stencilling  of  domes  and  other 
curved  interior  surfaces,  for  instance,  is  an  art  that  has 
very  httle  been  noticed  —  even  by  the  Turks,  judging 
from  the  sad  estate  to  which  the  art  has  fallen.  Some 
people  might  object  to  calhng  it  an  art  at  all  Let  such 
a  one  be  given  a  series  of  domes  and  vaults  to  ornament 
by  this  simple  means,  however,  and  he  will  find  how 
difficult  it  is  to  produce  an  effect  both  decorative  and 
dignified.     The  restorers  of  the  nineteenth  century  spoiled 


Yeni  J  ami 


MOSQUE   YARDS  45 

many  a  fine  interior  by  their  atrocious  baroque  draperies 
or  colour-blind  colour  schemes.  If  I  were  a  true  believer 
I  could  never  pray  in  mosques  like  Ahmed  I  or  Yeni 
Jami,  because  the  decorator  evidently  noticed  that  the 
prevailing  tone  of  the  tiles  was  bkie  and  dipped  his  brush 
accordingly  —  into  a  blue  of  a  different  key.  Yet  there 
are  domes  which  prove  how  fme  an  art  the  Turks  once 
made  of  this  half-mechanical  decoration.  One  of  the 
best  in  Stamboul  is  in  the  tomb  of  the  princes,  behind  the 
Shah-zadeh  mosque.  The  stencilKng  is  a  charming  ara- 
besque design  in  black,  dark  red,  pale  blue,  and  orange, 
perhaps  happily  toned  by  time,  which  a  recent  restora- 
tion was  wise  enough  to  spare.  The  tomb  of  Roxelana 
and  the  great  tomb  beside  Yeni  Jami  also  contain  a  httle 
interesting  stencilhng.  But  the  most  complete  example 
of  good  work  of  this  kind  is  outside  Stamboul,  in  the 
Yeni  Valideh  mosque  of  Scutari.  The  means  used  are 
of  the  simplest,  the  colours  being  merely  black  and  dull 
red,  with  a  httle  dull  yellow;  but  the  hues  are  so  fme  and 
so  sapiently  spaced  on  their  broad  background  of  white 
that  the  effect  is  very  much  that  of  a  Persian  shawl. 
A  study  of  that  ceiling  should  be  made  compulsory  for 
every  decorator  of  a  mosque  —  and  might  yield  sugges- 
tions not  a  few  to  his  Western  cousin. 

The  windows  of  mosques  are  another  detail  that 
always  interests  me.  They  are  rareh*  very  large,  but 
there  are  a  great  many  of  them  and  they  give  no  dim 
rehgious  hght,  making  up  a  great  part  as  they  do  of  the 
human  sunniness  of  the  interior.  A  first  l^ier  of  square 
windows  stand  almost  at  the  level  of  the  poor,  and  are  j 
provided  with  folding  shutters  which  are'^rved  with 
many  little  panels  or  with  a  Moorish  pattern  of  inter- 
laced stars.  Higher  up  the  windows  are  arched  and  are 
made  more  interesting  by  the  broad  plaster  mulhons  of 


^ 


46        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

which  I  have  already  spoken.  These  make  against  the 
Kght  a  grille  of  round,  oval,  or  drop-shaped  openings 
which  are  wonderfully  decorative  in  themselves.  The 
same  principle  is  refined  and  complicated  into  a  result 
more  decorative  still  when  the  plaster  setting  forms  a 
complete  design  of  arabesques,  flowers,  or  writing,  some- 
times framing  symmetrically  spaced  circles  or  quad- 
rangles, sometimes  composing  an  all-over  pattern,  and 
filled  in  with  minute  panes  of  coloured  glass.  Huys- 
mans  compared  the  w^ndow^s  of  Chartres  to  Persian 
rugs,  because  the  smallness  of  the  figures  and  their  height 
above  the  floor  make  them  merely  conventional  arrange- 
ments of  colour.  Here,  however,  we  have  the  real 
principle  of  the  Oriental  rug.  Turkish  windows  contain 
no  figures  at  afl,  nor  any  of  that  unhappy  attempt  at 
realism  that  mars  so  much  modern  glass.  The  secret  of 
the  efl"ect  hes  in  the  smaflness  of  the  panes  used  and  the 
visibility  of  the  plaster  design  in  which  they  are  set. 
And  what  an  efl"ect  of  jewelry  may  be  produced  in  this 
way  is  to  be  seen  in  the  Siileimanieh,  and  Yeni  Jami 
— ^  where  two  sHm  cypresses  make  dehcious  panels  of 
green  light  above  the  mihrab  —  besides  other  mosques 
and  tombs  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries. 

Mosques  are  even  more  notable  than  private  houses 
for  the  inscriptions  on  their  wafls.  Every  visitor  to 
St.  Sophia  remembers  the  great  green  medaflions  bear- 
ing the  names  of  the  chief  personages  of  Islam  in  letters 
of  gold.  In  purely  Turkish  mosques  similar  medallions 
may  be  seen,  or  large  inscriptions  stencifled  like  panels 
on  the  white  wafls,  or  smafl  texts  hanging  near  the  floor. 
But  there  is  a  more  architectural  use  of  writing,  above 
doors  and  windows  or  in  the  form  of  a  frieze.  When 
designed  by  a  master  like  Hassan  Chcflbi  of  Kara  His- 
sar,  the  great  cafligrapher  of  Siilciman's  time,  and  exe- 


MOSQUE  YARDS  47 

cuted  in  simple  dark  blue  and  white  in  one  of  the 
imperial  tile  factories,  this  art  became  a  means  of  dec- 
oration which  we  can  only  envy  the  Turks.  Such  in- 
scriptions are  always  from  the  Koran,  of  course,  and 
they  are  often  happily  chosen  for  the  place  they  oc- 
cupy. Around  the  great  dome  of  the  Siileimanieh,  and 
lighted  by  its  circle  of  windows,  runs  this  verse:  "God 
is  the  light  of  the  heavens  and  of  the  earth.  His  light 
is  like  a  window  in  the  wall,  wherein  a  lamp  burns,  cov- 
ered with  glass.  The  glass  shines  like  a  star.  The  lamp 
is  kindled  from  the  oil  of  a  blessed  tree:  not  of  the  east, 
not  of  the  west,  it  lights  whom  he  wills." 

It  is  not  only  for  inscriptions,  however,  that  tiles  are 
used  in  mosques.  Stamboul,  indeed,  is  a  museum  of 
tiles  that  has  never  been  adequately  explored.  Nor,  in 
general,  is  very  much  known  about  Turkish  ceramics. 
I  suppose  nothing  definite  will  be  known  till  the  Turks 
themselves,  or  some  one  who  can  read  their  language, 
takes  the  trouble  to  look  up  the  records  of  mosques  and 
other  public  buildings.  The  splendid  tiles  of  Suleiman's 
period  have  sometimes  been  attributed  a  Persian  and 
sometimes  a  Rhodian  origin  —  for  thc}^  have  many  simi- 
larities with  the  famous  Rhodian  plates.  The  Turks 
themselves  generally  suppose  that  their  tiles  came  from 
Kiitahya,  where  a  factory  still  produces  work  of  an  in- 
ferior kind.  The  truth  lies  between  these  various  the- 
ories. That  any  number  of  the  tiles  of  Constantinople 
came  from  Persia  is  impossible.  So  many  of  them  could 
not  have  been  safely  brought  so  far  overland,  and  it  is 
inconceivable  that  they  would  have  fitted  into  their 
places  as  they  do,  or  that  any  number  of  buildings  would 
have  been  erected  to  fit  their  tiles.  The  Rhodian  theory 
is  equally  improbable,  partly  for  similar  reasons  though 
chiefly  because  the  legend  of  Rhodes  is  all  but  exploded. 


48         CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

The  Musee  de  Cluny  is  almost  the  last  believer  in  the 
idea  that  its  unrivalled  collection  of  Rhodian  plates  ever 
came  from  Rhodes.  Many  of  them  probably  came 
from  different  parts  of  Asia  Minor.  That  tiles  were  pro- 
duced in  Asia  Minor  long  before  the  capture  of  Con- 
stantinople we  know  from  the  monuments  of  Broussa, 
Konia,  and  other  places.  They  were  quite  a  different 
kind  of  tile,  to  be  sure,  of  only  one  colour  or  con- 
taining a  simple  arabesque  design,  which  was  varied  by 
a  sort  of  tile  mosaic.  Many  of  them,  too,  were  six- 
sided.  The  only  examples  of  these  older  tiles  in  Con- 
stantinople are  to  be  seen  at  the  Chinili  Kyoshk  of  the 
imperial  museum  —  the  Tile  Pavilion  —  and  the  tomb  of 
Mahmoud  Pasha.  It  is  a  notorious  fact,  however,  that 
the  sultans  who  fought  against  the  Persians  brought 
back  craftsmen  of  all  kinds  from  that  country  and  set- 
tled them  in  different  parts  of  the  empire.  Selim  I, 
for  instance,  when  he  captured  Tabriz,  imported  the 
best  tile  makers  of  that  city,  as  well  as  from  Ardebil 
and  Kashan  —  whence  one  of  thewords  for  tiles,  kyashi 
—  and  settled  them  in  Isnik.  .This  is  the  city  which 
under  an  older  name  had  already  produced  the  historian 
Dion  Cassius  and  the  Nicene  Creed.  Other  factories 
are  known  to  have  existed  in  Kastambol,  Konia,  Nico- 
media,  and  Constantinople  itself.  One  is  supposed  to 
have  been  in  Eyoub,  though  no  trace  of  it  remains  to- 
day unless  in  the  potteries  of  Chomlekjiler.  Another,  I 
have  been  told,  flourished  at  Balat.  I  know  not  whether 
it  may  have  been  the  same  which  Sultan  Ahmed  III 
transferred  in  1724  from  Nic^ea  to  the  ruined  Byzantine 
palace  of  Tekfour  Serai".  A  colony  of  glass-blowers  there 
are  the  last  remnant  to-day  of  the  tile  makers  of  two 
hundred  years  ago. 

The  art  itself  declined  and  gradually  died  out  as  the 


MOSQUE  YARDS  49 

sultans  stopped  making  conquests  and  building  mosques. 
For   the   imperial   mosques   are   monuments   of  victory, 
built  and  endowed  out  of  the  spoils  of  war.     After  the 
martial   period   of  the  empire  came  to  an  end  with  Sii- 
leiman  I  only  one  mosque  of  importance,  that  of  Ahmed 
I,  was  built  by  a  reigning  sultan  in  his  own  name.     But 
the  tiles  of  the  imperial  factories,  after  many  fires  and 
much  thieving,  still  make  up  what  is  most  brilliant  and 
most  durable  in  the  colour  of  Stamboul.     The  best  tiles 
are  Nicene  of  the  sixteenth  century,  that  extraordinary 
cinque-cento,  when    so    many  of  the  best  things  of  the 
world   were  produced.     They  are  distinguished   by  the 
transparent  white  glaze  of  their  background,  on  which 
are  drawn  tulips,  carnations,  wild  hyacinths,  and  a  cer- 
tain  long   bent  serrated   leaf  common  to  the   Rhodian 
plate.     The   chief  colours   are   a  dark  and   a  turquoise 
bhie  and  a  tomato  red,  green  and  yellow  occurring  more 
rarely.     And  they  are  never  quite  smooth,  the  red  in 
particular  usually  being  in  slight  rcKef.     This  gives  them 
a  variety  which  is  absent  from  many  modern  tiles. 

The  feeling  for  variety,  in  fact,  was  one  great  secret 
of  Turkish  tile  making  and  tile  setting.  Sinan,  for  in- 
stance, used  tiles  very  sparingly  in  his  larger  buildings. 
He  was  great  enough  to  depend  very  little  on  ornament 
for  his  effect,  and  he  knew  that  tiles  would  look  hke 
paper  or  linoleum  —  if  such  things  existed  in  his  day!  — 
on  a  monumental  surface.  But  he  had  a  perfect  tact  of 
using  this  tapestry  wherever  he  wanted  a  touch  of  colour 
or  distinction  —  over  a  window,  along  a  cornice,  around  a 
mihrab.  His  masterpiece  in  this  decoration  is  the  mosque 
of  Rustem  Pasha,  son-in-law  and  Grand  Vizier  to  Sulei- 
man the  Magnificent.  This  mosque,  Kfted  on  retaining 
walls  above  the  noise  of  its  busy  quarter,  has  a  portico 
which  must  have  been  magnificently  tiled  —  judging  from 


CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 


the  panel  at  the  left  of  the  main  door  —  and  the  whole 
interior  is  tiled  to  the  spring  of  the  dome.  The  mosque 
is  small  enough  for  the  effect  of  the  tiles  to  tell  —  and 

to  be  ahiiost  ruined  by  the  fearful 
modern  frescoes  of  the  vaulting. 
The  guides  of  Pera  have  a  favourite 
legend  to  the  effect  that  Rustem 
Pasha  brought  back  these  tilts  from 
his  wars  in  Persia  and  buih  a  mos- 
que for  them  to  save  giving  them 
up  to  his  imperial  master.  But  no 
one  need  be  an  expert  to  see  the 
impossibility  of  any  such  story. 
The  tiles  must  have  been  designed 
for  the  walls  which  they  incrust, 
and  by  a  supreme  master  of  deco- 
ration. I  should  not  be  surprised 
to  learn  that  Sinan  himself  drew 
them  all.  There  is  a  tall  narrow 
panel  on  either  side  of  the  mosque, 
between  two  windo^^•s,  which  seems 
to  me  one  of  the  most  perfect  ways 
imaginable  of  fiHing  such  a  space. 
So  are  the  spandrels  of  the  arches 
supporting  the  gallery,  and  the 
niche  of  the  mihrah,  and  the  back 
of  the  niimher.  All  through  the 
mosque,  however,  the  way  in  w^hich 
the  artist  has  varied  his  designs 
and  colours,  while  never  losing  his  unity  of  effect,  is  a 
piece  of  genius.  Narrow  spaces  and  points  of  special 
interest  are  treated  each  in  its  own  way;  but  unbroken 
surfaces  of  wall  are  never  allowed  to  become  monotonous 
by  covering  them  with  only  one  form  of  tile.     Thej^  are 


Tile  panel  in  Rustem 
Pasha 


MOSQUE  YARDS 


51 


broken  up  by  narrower  border  tiles  into  panels,  each  of 
which  is  treated  differently  though  harmonising  with  its 
neighbour  and  balancing  the  corresponding  space  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  mosque.     Even  within  one  of  these 


The  mikrab  of  Riistem  Pasha 


spaces  monotony  is  avoided  by  the  fact  that  the  tiles 
are  almost  never  of  a  repeating  pattern.  Two  or  four 
tiles  are  required  to  make  up  the  scheme.  And  then 
the  pattern  does  not  always  fit  the  tiles,  so  that  the 
interstices  come  in  different  places  in  different  parts  of 


52        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

the  design,  and  you  feel  that  the  tiles  could  only  have 
been  made  for  that  one  space.  In  the  case  of  special 
panels,   of  course,   many  tiles  are  required  to  make  up 


In  Riistem  Pasha 


the  pattern.  The  splendid  flowered  panel  in  the  portico 
contains  forty-five  tiles,  exckisive  of  the  border,  and 
every  one  of  them  different.  Such  work  was  not  com- 
mercial tile  making.      It  was  an  art. 

Two  mosques  of  a  later  period  in  Stamboul  are  com- 


MOSQUE   YARDS 


53 


pletely  tiled,  that  of  Sultan  Ahmed  I  and  the  one  begun 
by  his  wife  —  Yeni  Jami.  They  prove  the  wisdom  of 
Sinan  in  not  attempting  to  tile  a  large  interior.  Still, 
the  gallery  of  Sultan  Ahmed  also  proves  that  the  archi- 
tect was  not  altogether  ignorant  of  what  he  was  about. 
He  put  his  best  tiles  there,  where  they  can  only  be  seen 


Tiles  in  the  gallery  of  Sultan  Ahmed 


at  close  range.  And  his  best  is  very  good.  I  have 
counted  twenty-nine  varieties  of  tiles  there,  or  rather  of 
designs,  divided,  like  those  of  Riistem  Pasha,  into  framed 
panels.  The  tiles  facing  the  mihrab,  where  the  gallery 
widens  over  the  main  doorway,  are  so  good  that  I  some- 
times ask  myself  if  the  architect  did  not  borrow  from  an 
earlier  building.  Two  series  of  eleven  panels,  one  above 
the  other,  make  a  tall  wainscot  whose  onlv  fault  is  that 


54        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

too  much  richness  is  crowded  into  too  narrow  a  space. 
The  lower  series  is  the  finer.  Five  panels  to  the  right 
balance  five  panels  to  the  left  of  a  spindle-shaped  Persian 
design.  Its  two  neighbours  are  coinentionalised  cypress 
trees,  than  which  nothing  more  decorati\e  was  e\er  in- 
vented. Then  come  two  magnificent  panels  of  larger 
spindles  against  a  thicket  of  peach-blossoms  or  Judas  blos- 
soms, red  w  ith  small  l^hie  centres,  followed  by  two  more 
cypresses.  Five  panels  of  the  upper  series,  one  of  them 
forming  the  axis,  are  latticed  again  with  blossoming 
sprays.  In  this  case  there  is  no  spindle  to  hide  the 
greater  part  of  the  llowers,  which  are  bhie  with  small 
red  centres.  The  tiles  arc  very  nearly  if  not  quite  as 
good  as  those  of  the  preceding  century,  and  they  make  a 
wall  more  splendid  than  exists  outside  the  old  Seraglio. 

Yeni  Jami  is  better  suited  for  tiling,  being  compara- 
tively a  smaller  mosque.  Its  i)rop()rti()ns  are  also  much 
better  and  the  frescoing  is  not  so  bad  as  that  of  Sultan 
Ahmed.  The  tiles  themselves  are  not  so  interesting. 
But  attached  to  the  mosque,  and  giving  entrance  to  the 
imperial  tribune,  is  a  suite  of  rooms  which  arc  also 
tiled.  This  imperial  apartment  is  carried  across  the 
street  on  a  great  pointed  arch,  and  is  reached  from  out- 
side by  a  covered  inclined  way  which  enabled  the  Sultan 
to  ride  directly  up  to  the  level  of  his  gallery.  At  the 
same  level  is  also  a  little  garden,  held  up  by  a  massive 
retaining  wall,  and  a  balcony  with  a  rail  of  perforated 
marble  once  gave  a  magnificent  view  over  the  harbour. 
The  view  has  since  been  cut  off  by  shops,  and  the  apart- 
ment itself  has  fallen  into  a  sad  state  of  neglect  or  has 
been  subjected  to  unfortunate  restorations.  A  later  and 
more  intelligent  restoration  has  brought  to  light,  under 
a  vandal  coat  of  brown  paint,  the  old  gilding  of  the  wood- 
work.    But  the  tiles  of  the  walls  remain  —  except  where 


MOSQUE   \'ARDS 


:?:? 


they  have  been  replaced  by  horrible  panels  of  some  com- 
position imitating  Florentine  mosaic.     Among  them  are 
charming  cypresses  and  peach-trees.     There  are  also  re- 
mains  of  lovely   old   windows,    to    say    nothing   of    tall 
hooded    fireplaces    and    doors    incrusted    with    tortoise- 
shell  and  mother-of-pearl.     The  tiles  are  palpably  of  a 
poorer  period  than  those   I   have  described.     But  there 
is   a  great  attractiveness   about   this  quaint   apartment, 
that  only  adds  to  the  general  distinction  of  Yeni  Jami._ 
The  original  founder  of  the  mosque,  as  I   have  said, 
was   the   favourite   wife  of  Ahmed    I.     This   princess   is 
one  of  the  most   famous  women   in  Turkish   chronicles. 
Whether  she  was  a  Greek  or  a  Turk,  history   does   not 
confirm,  though  the  custom  of  the  sultans  to  marry  none 
but  slaves  would  point  to  the  former  origin.     Her  name 
in    the   Seraglio   was  Mahpeiker  —  Moon    Face.     She   is 
oftenest   rememlx-red,   however,   by  the  name   K\ossem, 
Leader  of  a  Flock,  from  the  fact  that  she  was  the  first  of 
a  troop  of  slaves  presented  to  the  ycning  sultan.     During 
his  reign  she  gained  an  increasing  voice  in  the  afiairs  of 
the  empire,  and  during  those  of  her  sons  Mourad  IV  and 
Ibrahim    her   word   was    law.     The   position   of  empress 
mother  is  an  exceptional  one  in  Turkey,  as  in  China,  the 
occupant  of  it  being  the  first  lady  in  the  palace  and  the 
land.     She  is  known  as  the  validth  soultan,  or  princess 
mother  —  for  the  word  sultan  properly  has  no  sex.     Our 
word  sultana  does  not  exist  in  Turkish,  being  a  Greek  or 
Italian  invention.     The  reigning  sultan  prefixes  the  title 
to  his  own  name,  while  other  persons  of  his  blood  put  it 
after  theirs.     When  the  grandson  of  Kyossem,  the  boy 
Mehmed   IV,  came  to  the  throne,  the  great  valideb  con- 
tinued, against  all  precedent,  to  inhabit  the  Seraglio  and 
to  exercise  her  old  infiuence.     But  at  last  the  jealousy  of 
Mehmed's  mother,  defrauded  of  her  natural  rank,  kindled 


56         CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

a  palace  intrigue  that  caused  the  older  valideh,  at  the  age 
of  eighty,  to  be  strangled  one  night  in  the  Seraglio.  Her 
mosque,  still  unfinished,  suffered  by  a  fire  which  ravaged 
the  quarter;  and  it  was  finally  completed  by  her  young 
rival,  a  Russian  named  Tar'han,  or  Hadijeh.  After  the 
latter  the  mosque  is  called  to-day  the  yeni  valideh  soultan 
jamisi,  the  mosque  of  the  new  empress  mother.  In  com- 
mon parlance,  however,  it  goes  by  the  name  of  yeni  jami, 
the  new  mosque  —  though  it  has  had  time  to  become 
fairly  venerable.  And  she  who  became  the  new  valideh 
in  1649  ^"^c)w  occupies  the  place  of  honour  under  the  dome 
of  the  tomb  beside  the  mosque,  while  the  murdered 
Kyossem  rests  near  her  husband  in  their  little  marble 
house  on  the  Hippodrome. 

The  tombs  that  accompany  mosques  are  only  less 
interesting  than  the  mosques  themselves,  both  for  their 
architectural  character  and  for  their  historical  associa- 
tions. When  space  permits  they  lie  in  an  inner  enclosure 
of  the  mosque  yard,  technically  called  the  garden,  behind 
the  mosque.  Long  before  Constantinople  became  their 
capital  the  sultans  had  perfected  a  type  of  mausoleum, 
or  tilrbeh.  This  is  a  domed  structure,  usually  octagonal 
in  shape,  cheerfully  lighted  by  two  or  three  tiers  of  win- 
dows. Every  tomb  has  its  own  guardian,  called  the 
tiirhedar,  and  some  are  attached  to  a  school  or  other 
philanthropic  institution.  These  mausoleums  are  often 
extremely  elaborate  in  decoration,  but  they  all  retain  a 
certain  primitive  simplicity  with  regard  to  their  central 
feature.  There  is  no  sarcophagus  of  marble  or  porphyry. 
The  occupant  of  the  tiirbeh  is  buried  in  the  floor,  and  over 
his  grave  stands  a  plain  wooden  catafalque  covered  with 
green  cloth.  Like  a  Turkish  coffin,  it  is  ridged  and  ii 
chned  from  the  head,  where  a  wooden  standard  supports 
the  turban  of  the  deceased.     A  woman's  catafalque  has 


MOSQUE   YARDS 


57 


no  standard,  a  scarf  being  thrown  across  the  head. 
Embroideries,  of  gold  on  velvet,  or  of  cjuotations  from  the 
Koran  in  a  zigzag  pattern,  may  cover  the  green  cloth. 
Such  embroideries  are  often  a  piece  of  a  last  year's  hang- 
ing from  the  Kaaba  at  Mecca  or  from  the  Prophet's 
tomb  at  Medina.     But   nothing  is   imposing  about  the 


The  tomb  of  Sultan  Ahmed  I 


catafalque  unless  its  size,  which  indicates  the  importance 
of  the  person  commemorated.  The  largest  one  I  remem- 
ber is  that  of  Sultan  Mehmed  II,  the  Conqueror.  And 
the  rail  around  the  catafalque  is  all  that  suggests  perma- 
nence, and  that  is  generally  of  wood  inlaid  with  mother-of- 
pearl.  The  simple  epitaph  is  written  on  a  placard  which 
hangs  casually  from  the  rail,  or  perhaps  from  an  immense 
candle  to  be  hghted  on  holy  nights.  Near  by  may  be  an 
inlaid   folding   stand   with  an  ilkiminatcd   Koran.     The 


58        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

floor  is  matted  and  covered  with  rugs  like  a  mosque  or  a 
house. 

The  tombs  attached  to  the  imperial  mosques  are 
naturally  the  most  important.  Not  every  sultan  built 
his  own,  however.  In  the  tiirheh  of  Ahmed  I  two  other 
sultans  are  buried,  his  sons  Osman  II  —  who  was  the 
first  sultan  to  be  murdered  by  his  own  people  —  and  the 
bloody  Mourad  IV.  Among  the  innumerable  people 
w^hom  the  latter  put  to  death  was  his  brother  Prince 
Bai'ezid,  the  hero  of  Racine's  "Bajazet,"  who  Hes  beside 
him.  In  the  tomb  of  Hadijeh  at  Yeni  Jami  five  sultans 
rest:  her  son  Mehmed  IV,  her  grandsons  Moustafa  II 
and  Ahmed  III,  and  her  great-grandsons  Mahmoud  I 
and  Osman  III.  These  and  others  of  the  larger  tombs 
are  noticeable  for  the  number  of  httle  catafalques  they 
contain,  marking  the  graves  of  little  princes  who  were 
strangled  on  the  accession  of  their  eldest  brother. 

The  most  interesting  tombs,  from  an  artistic  point  of 
view,  are  those  of  the  period  of  Sule'iman  the  Magnificent. 
How  this  later  Solomon  came  by  his  European  nickname 
I  can  not  tell,  for  the  Turks  know  him  as  Solomon  the 
Lawgiver.  But  magnificent  without  doubt  he  was,  and 
Stamboul  would  be  another  city  if  all  trace  of  his  magnifi- 
cence were  to  disappear.  His  tiirheh,  behind  the  mosque 
he  built  in  his  own  name,  is  perhaps  the  most  imposing 
in  Constantinople,  though  neither  the  largest  nor  the 
most  splendidly  decorated.  A  covered  ambulatory  sur- 
rounds it,  and  within  are  handsome  tiles  and  stained- 
glass  windows.  I  prefer,  however,  the  tomb  of  his 
famous  consort.  The  legend  of  this  lady  has  enjoyed 
outside  of  her  own  country  a  success  that  proves  again 
the  capriciousness  of  fame.  For  the  great  Kyossem  was 
a  more  celebrated  princess  whose  name  has  been  for- 
gotten  in   Europe.     It  is  perfectly   true  that  Suleiman 


MOSQUE   YARDS  59 

did  put  to  death  his  eldest  son  Moustafa,  a  prince  of  the 
greatest  promise,  and  that  Roxelana's  son,  Sehm  II,  did 
inherit  the  throne  accordingly  —  and  so  cut  off  the  Hne 


In  Roxelana's  tomb 


of  great  sultans.  But  it  has  yet  to  be  proved  that  Roxe- 
lana  really  was  the  "fatal  woman"  of  popular  history, 
who  instigated  her  stepson's  murder,  I  suspect  the  truth 
of  the  matter  was  largely  that  she  had  a  good  press,  as 
they  say  in  French.     She  happened  to  fall  into  the  orbit 


6o        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

of  one  of  the  greatest  men  of  her  time,  she  furnished  copy 
for  the  despatches  of  one  or  two  famous  ambassadors, 
and  —  they   gave   her   a   pronounceable  name!     I   have 
been  told  that  it  is  a  corruption  of  a  Persian  name  mean- 
ing red-cheeked;    but   I   have  privately  wondered   if  it 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  Slavic  tribe  of  Roxolani. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  this  princess  was  a  Russian  slave  of 
so  great  w4t  and  charm  that  the  Lord  of  the  Two  Earths 
and  the  Sovereign  of  All  the  Seas  paid  her  the  unprece- 
dented  comphment  of  making   her  his   legal  wife.     He 
even  built  for  her,  unlike  any  other  sultan  I  remember, 
a   tomb   to    herself.     And    Sinan   subtly   put    into   it   a 
feminine  grace  that  is  set  off  by  the  neighbouring  mau- 
soleum of  her  husband.     In  the  little  vestibule  are  two 
panels  of  rose-red  flowers  that  must  have  been  lovely  in 
their  day.     In   consequence  of  some  accident  the  tiles 
have  been  stupidly  patched  and  mixed  up.     The  interior 
is    sixteen-sided,    with    alternate    windows    and    pointed 
marble  niches.     The  spaces  between  are  delicately  tiled, 
and  most  so  in  the  spandrels  of  the  niches,  where  are 
sprays  of  rose-coloured  flowers  like  those  in  the  vestibule. 
There   is   another   tomb   behind   another   mosque   of 
Suleiman,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most  perfect  monument 
of  its   kind   in   Stamboul.     I   did   not  always  think  so. 
But  the  more  I  look  at  its  fluted  dome  and  at  the  scheme 
of  its  interior  tiling,  the  more  I  seem  to  see  that  here 
again  Sinan,   or  the  great  decorator  who  worked  with 
him,  exquisitely  found  means  to  express  an  idea  of  indi- 
viduality.    This   tomb   was    built,    like   the    mosque    to 
which  it  belongs,  in  memory  of  Suleiman's  second  and 
best-beloved     son,    the    young     Prince     Mehmed.     The 
mosque  —  so-called  of  the  Shah-zadeh,  the  Prince  —  has 
lost  its  original  decoration,  but  its  graceful  lines  and  its 
incrusted   minarets   combine  with  the  smaller  buildings 


MOSQUE  YARDS  6i 

and  the  trees  about  it  to  make  one  of  the  happiest  archi- 
tectural groups  in  Stamboul.     As  for  the  tiirbeh,  it  fortu- 
nately remains  very  much  as  Sinan  left  it.     The  design 
of  the  tiles  is  more  abstract  and  mascuhne  than  those  in 
Roxelana's  turbeh,  being  mainly  an  intricate  weaving  of 
hues  and  arabesques.     But  there  is  about  them  a  refine- 
ment, a  distinction,  which,  it  is  hardly  too  fantastic  to 
say,  insensibly  suggest  the  youth  and  the  royal  station 
of  the  boy  whose  burial  chamber  they   beautify.     For 
the  colour  —  rarest  of  all  in  Turkish  tiles  —  is  a  spring 
green  and  a  golden  yellow,  set  off  by  a  httle  dark  blue. 
The  tomb  is  also  remarkable,  as  I  have  already  said,  for 
the  stencilling  of  its  dome,  as  w^ell  as  for  the  lovely  frag- 
ments of  old  stained  glass  in  the  upper  windows  and  for 
a  sort  of  wooden  canopy,  perforated  in  the  wheel  pattern 
common  to  the  balustrades  of  the  period,  covering  the 
prince's    catafalque.     It    is    supposed   to   symbohse    the 
throne   which    Suleiman    hoped    his    son    might    inherit. 
Beside  the  prince,  but  not  under  the  canopy,  rests  his 
humpbacked  younger  brother  Jihangir.     As  for  the  un- 
happy Prince   Moustafa,   he  was   buried  in  Broussa,  in 
the  beautiful  garden  of  the  Mouradieh. 

The  turbeh  of  Prince  Mehmed  has,  in  my  mind,  an- 
other pre-eminence  which  perhaps  it  does  not  deserve. 
As  in  most  other  public  buildings  of  Stamboul,  an  inscrip- 
tion is  carved  over  the  door.  These  inscriptions  are  gen- 
erally in  poetry  and  sometimes  very  long.  The  unini- 
tiated reader  would  never  guess  that  the  last  verse  of 
many  of  them  is  also  a  date,  for  the  Arabic  letters,  like 
certain  Roman  letters,  have  a  numerical  value.  And  the 
date  of  many  a  Turkish  monument  is  hidden  in  a  chron- 
ogram, always  the  last  line  of  the  inscription,  m  which 
the  arithmetical  sum  of  the  letters  is  equivalent  to  the 
numeral  of  the  year  in  which  the  monument  was  erected. 


62         CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

I  am  not  learned  enough  to  say  when  this  recondite  fash- 
ion started,  but  the  chronogram  of  this  tomb  is  the  ear- 
hest  I  happen  to  know  about  in  Stamboul.  It  reads: 
''Grant,  Lord,  to  him  who  rests  here  to  wan  the  grove  of 
Eden."  The  arithmetical  vakie  of  the  line  is  950, 
which  year  of  the  Hegira  is  equivalent  to  1543  of  our  era. 

There  are  several  other  interesting  tombs  in  this  en- 
closure, of  which  the  most  important  are  those  of  Riis- 
tem  Pasha,  builder  of  the  tile  mosque  we  have  already 
noticed,  and  of  a  certain  Ibrahim  Pasha,  Grand  Vizier  to 
Sultan  Mourad  III.  I  have  a  particular  fancy  for  the 
latter  tiirbeh,  which  seems  to  me  in  its  neglected  way  a 
Httle  masterpiece.  Consider  me  now  its  door  —  how  ad- 
mirably drawn  it  is,  provided  with  what  green  bronze 
knockers  in  the  shape  of  lyres!  The  tiles  of  the  interior, 
or  the  more  important  of  them,  are  simphfied  from  those 
of  Prince  Mehmed,  transposed  into  another  key  —  dark 
red  and  less  dark  blue  on  white  —  and  set  between  two 
encircling  inscriptions.  There  are  also  certain  panels 
of  flowers  between  high  windows.  But  I  think  I  am 
most  undone  by  a  little  dado,  one  tik^  high,  where  two 
outward  curving  sprays  of  w^ild  hyacinth  that  just  do 
not  fit  into  the  breadth  of  a  tile  enclose  a  small  cluster 
of  tuhps  and  carnations  —  inimitably  conventionalised 
and  symmetrical.  Nothing  more  simple  or  more  decora- 
tive was  ever  imagined. 

Sehm  II,  the  unworthy  supplanter  of  him  who  might 
have  been  Mehmed  III,  lies  in  a  tomb  handsomer  than 
he  deserves,  in  the  court  of  a  mosque  built  by  a  greater 
than  he  —  St.  Sophia.  His  large  tiirbeh  lacks  the  elegant 
proportion  of  his  brother's,  but  the  tile  panels  of  its  porch 
are  very  effective.  So  is  the  tile  tapestry  of  its  inner 
walls,  though  a  httk-  monotonous  —  mainly  white  in 
effect,    dotted    with    littk   tulips   and    other   flowers    en- 


MOSQUE  YARDS 


63 


closed  In  small  Persian  spindles.  Four  other  sultans 
are  buried  In  the  precincts  of  St.  Sophia,  the  mad  Mous- 
tafa  I  and  the  dethroned  Ibrahim  lying  In  dishonour- 
able neglect  In  the  bare,  whitewashed  chamber  that  was 
once  the  baptistery  of 
the  cathedral.  And  It 
was  through  having 
been  the  slave  of  Ibra- 
him that  the  valideh 
soultan  Hadljeh  was 
able  to  complete  YenI 
JamI  In  her  own  name 
and  build  beside  It  the 
great  mausoleum  In 
which  she  Kes! 

These  tiirhehs,  with 
the  fountains  of  the 
outer  courtyard  and 
the  trees  that  shade 
them  and  the  minarets 
that  tower  above  the 
trees,  give  an  oddly 
Turkish  air  to  the  pre- 
cincts of  St.  Sophia. 
It  Is  to  a  real  mosque, 
how^ever,  that  one  must 
go  for  a  typical  mosque 

yard.  A  part  of  It  that  Is  lacking  to  St.  Sophia,  and,  in- 
deed, to  many  mosques,  is  another  Inner  enclosure  called 
the  haram,  or  sanctuary.  This  forecourt  of  the  mosque 
Is  always  more  architectural  than  the  "garden,"  being  a 
paved  quadrangle  surrounded  by  an  arcade.  In  the  cen- 
tre of  the  cloister  a  covered  fountain  should  bubble, 
sometimes  under  trees.     I  have  already  mentioned  one 


The  tiirbeh  of  Ibrahim  Pasha 


64        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

of  the  best  examples  of  such  a  court.  It  belongs  to  the 
old  mosque  of  Sultan  Baiezid  II,  more  popularly  known 
as  the  Pigeon  Mosque.  This  is  less  of  a  sanctuary  than 
any  other  forecourt  in  Stamboul.  But  the  reason  is  that 
the  mosque  lacks  an  outer  yard  other  than  the  square 
of  the  War  Department.     And  I  would  be  the  last  to 


The  court  of  the  Conqueror 


11  nd  fault  with  the  scribes  who  sit  in  the  arcades,  or  to 
call  them  Pharisees  who  sell  beads  and  perfumes  there. 
During  the  month  of  Ramazan  a  busy  fair  is  held  there, 
open  only  during  the  afternoon,  where  the  complicated 
sweetmeats  of  the  season  are  sold  together  with  other 
things  worthy  to  be  given  as  presents  at  Ba'iram.  I  must 
say,  however,  that  I  have  a  weakness  for  the  court  of 
another  old  mosque,  that  of  Sultan  Selim  I,  in  a  less 
accessible  part  of  StambouL     Part  of  its  charm  is  per- 


MOSQUE   YARDS 


65 


haps  due  to  the  fact  that  it  is  more  remote  and  there- 
fore more  subject  to  silence.  Above  the  barred  win- 
dows that  look  into  the  outer  sunlight  are  hmettes  of 


The  main  entrance  to  the  court  of  SokoUi  Mehmed  Pasha 


tiles,  while  around  the  fountain  cypresses  and  grape- 
vines make  an  inimitable  shade.  Nor  can  I  pass  by 
the  court  of  SokoHi  Mehmed  Pasha,  the  last  and  great- 
est vizier  of  Siileiman  I.  This  is  supposed  to  be  a  lesser 
work   of  Sinan,    but    I    like   it   almost   better   than   any 


66        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

other.  Within  the  mosque  are  treasures  of  tiles,  of 
stained  glass,  of  painted  wood,  of  perforated  marble. 
Without  is  one  of  the  noblest  porticoes  in  Stamboul, 
looking  down  upon  a  cloister  that  is  a  real  cloister.  For 
into  its  colonnade  open  cells  where  live  the  students  of 
a  medresseh. 

A  medresseh  is  a  theological  school  and  law  school 
combined,  since  in  Islam  the  teachings  of  the  Prophet, 
as  embodied  in  the  Koran  and  the  traditions,  form  not 
only  the  rule  of  life  but  the  law  of  the  land.  It  is  only 
recently  that  a  difference  has  been  recognised  between 
the  Sheriat  or  sacred  law  and  the  civil  law,  but  their 
boundaries  are  still  indistinct,  and  for  many  men  the 
same  door  leads  to  legal  or  to  spiritual  preferment.  I 
have  said  so  much  about  tombs  and  tiles  and  other 
matters  that  I  have  left  myself  no  room  to  speak  of 
medressehs  —  or  schools  of  other  kinds,  or  libraries,  or 
caravansaries,  or  baths,  or  hospitals,  or  soup-kitchens, 
or  any  other  of  the  charitable  institutions  that  cluster 
around  a  mosque  yard.  We  are  wont  to  imagine  that 
philanthropy  was  invented  in  the  West,  and  that  the 
institutional  church  is  a  peculiarly  modern  development. 
But  before  America  was  discovered  institutional  mosques 
flourished  in  Stamboul  and  all  over  Asia  Minor,  and 
continue  to  do  so  to  this  day.  Ahnost  no  mosque,  in- 
deed, has  not  some  philanthropy  connected  with  it. 
They  are  administered,  mosques  and  dependencies  and 
all,  by  a  separate  and  very  important  department  of 
government  called  the  Ministry  of  the  EvkaJ — of  Pious 
Foundations. 

The  necessities  of  space  do  not  always  allow  these 
dependencies  to  gather  around  their  central  mosque  yard. 
Or  sometimes  they  are  independent  foundations  and 
may  have  a  yard  of  their  own  of  which  a  small  mosque 


The  interior  of  Sokolli  ^Vlehmed  Pasha 


MOSQUE  YARDS 


69 


is  merely  one  feature.  Two  very  interesting  examples 
are  medressehs  in  the  vicinity  of  the  mosque  of  the  Con- 
queror.    They  both  belong  to  the  same  period  and  their 


The  court  of  Sokolli  Mehmed  Pasha 


founders  were  both  ministers  of  Sultan  Aloustafa  II,  who 
was  dethroned  in  1703.  The  smaller  and  more  ruinous 
was  built  by  FeizouIIah  EfPendi,  She'fh  iil  Islam,  a  mighty 
man  of  God  who  did  and  undid  viziers  in  his  day  and 
perished  miserably  at  Adrianople  in  the  upheaval  that 
drove  his  imperial  master  from  the  throne.      His  medres- 


70        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 


seh  nearly  perished  too,  in  191 2,  to  make  way  for  a  new 
boulevard.  But  it  was  happily  saved  by  the  society  of 
the  Friends  of  Stamboul,  and  in  time  its  little  cloister 

may  become  less  of  a 
jungle.  Its  chief  orna- 
ment is  the  structure  to 
the  left  of  the  gateway, 
where  a  flight  of  steps 
mounts  under  a  wonder- 
ful arch  or  crocket  of 
perforated  marble  to  a 
pillared  porch  with  a 
mosque  on  one  side  and 
a  library  on  the  other. 
The  mosque  is  the  more 
dilapidated,  but  it  con- 
tains fragments  of  good 
tiling  and  a  charming 
little  door.  The  Hbrary 
has  the  same  little  door, 
shallow-arched  and  orna- 
mented with  fine  stalac- 
tites of  marble.  The  in- 
terior of  the  library  is 
almost  filled  by  a  square 
cage,  which  has  a  corres- 
ponding door  of  its  own 
and  a  dark  inner  com- 
partment. On  the  wired 
shelves  of  this  structure  big  books  are  pik^d  on  their 
sides,  and  their  titles  and  numbers  are  written  on  the 
edges  of  the  leaves.  They  are  all  manuscripts,  and 
some  of  them  are  ilkiminated  or  beautifully  bound.  I 
also  saw  a  finely  bound  catalogue  to  which  nothing  has 


Doorway  in  the  medresseh  of 
Feizoullah  Effendi 


MOSQUE  YARDS 


71 


been  added  for  two  hundred  years.  For  that  matter 
the  library  does  not  look  as  if  any  one  had  consulted  it 
for  two  hundred  years,  though  the  librarian  is  supposed 
to  be  there  every  day  except  Tuesday  and  Friday.  He 
accordingly  spends  most  of  his  time  in  his  book-shop  in 
the  mosque  yard  of  the  Conqueror. 


Entrance  to  the  medresseh  of  Kyopriilii  Hussein  Pasha 

The  other  medresseh,  separated  from  this  one  by  a 
straight  easterly  stretch  of  the  new  boulevard,  is  that 
of  the  Grand  Vizier  Amouja-zadeh  Hussein  Pasha  —  the 
Son  of  the  Uncle.  I  need  hardly  point  out  that  Hussein 
Pasha  was  not  the  son  of  his  own  uncle,  but  of  that  of 
a  famous  cousin  of  his.  For  he  belonged  to  the  great 
family  of  the  Kyopriilii,  who  gave  Turkey  five  of  her 
best  grand  viziers.     The  head  of  the  house,  that  iron 


72        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

old  man  who  stopped  for  a  time  the  decadence  of  the 
empire  —  and  put  to  death  thirty-six  thousand  people 
in  five  years  —  hes  in  the  skeleton  tiirbeh  of  marble  and 
bronze  on  Divan  Yolou,  near  the  Burnt  Column.  Hiis- 
se'in  Pasha's  tomb  is  also  open  to  the  street  and  to  the 


The  medresseh  of  Hassan  Pasha 
Note  the  bird-house  with  minarets 

rains  of  heaven.  Its  tall  stones  and  taller  trees  stand 
behind  a  cobweb  grille  to  the  left  of  his  sebil,  where  an 
attendant  gives  cups  of  cold  water  to  thirsty  passers-by. 
Between  the  sebil  and  the  gate  are  two  grilles  of  bronze, 
set  in  two  great  windows  of  delicately  chiselled  marble, 
that  do  much  to  make  this  medresseh  one  of  the  most 
notable  corners  of  StambouL  There  is  a  big  L-shaped 
courtyard  within,  pleasant  with  trees  and  a  central  pa- 
goda of  a  fountain,  looked  upon  by  white  cloisters  for 


MOSQUE   YARDS  73 

students,  by  a  library  containing  no  books,  by  a  ruined 
primary  school,  and  by  an  octagonal  mosque  charmingly 
set  in  a  square  ambulatory  of  pillars. 

I  should  be  afraid  to  guess  how  many  such  institutions 
are  in  Stamboul  or  how  many  thousand  students  attend 
them  at  the  expense  of  their  founders.  They  are  a  won- 
derful tribute  to  the  philanthropy  of  another  day  —  the 
day  of  the  great  schools  of  Bagdad  and  Cairo  and  Cor- 
dova, the  day  of  the  mediaeval  cloisters.  Stamboul  has 
needed  bitter  lessons  to  learn  that  that  day  is  past. 
Indeed,  a  good  part  of  old  Stamboul  has  taken  refuge  in 
these  courtyards,  and  would  still  be  true  to  the  old  order 
which  made  the  mosque  the  centre  of  the  community 
and  supposed  all  knowledge  to  be  in  the  Koran.  For 
the  race  of  men  that  hkes  Stamboul  there  is  a  great  charm 
in  these  places,  with  their  picturesqueness  and  their  air, 
part  gravity,  part  melancholy,  familiar  to  the  East  and 
particular  to  all  places  that  have  known  change  and  ruin. 
There  is  tragedy  in  them,  too,  and  menace.  For  they 
teach  too  many  men  too  little.  But  there  is  also  a  germ 
in  them  of  something  that  might  conceivably  save  Stam- 
boul in  spite  of  herself.  "Seek  knowledge,  even  though 
it  be  in  China,"  is  one  of  the  most  famous  sayings  of  the 
Prophet,  and  he  taught  his  followers  that  the  greater 
holy  war  was  against  ignorance.  Halil  Bey  and  Van  Ber- 
chem,  in  their  monumental  Corps  d' Inscriptions  Arabes, 
quote  an  epigraph  to  the  same  effect  from  a  thirteenth- 
century  medresseh  in  Sivas:  ''The  pursuit  of  knowledge 
is  an  obhgation  imposed  on  every  Moslem.  The  merit 
of  science  is  greater  than  that  of  devotion."  And  the 
medresseh  of  AH  Pasha  in  Stamboul  has  this  written  above 
the  gate:  ''Whoever  taught  me  a  single  word,  I  was  his 
slave."  If  the  spirit  that  made  such  utterances  could 
once  touch  Islam  again,  would  it  not  be  enough? 


Ill 

OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE 

Now  you  may  know  that  those  who  had  never  before  seen  Constanti- 
nople looked  upon  it  very  earnestly,  for  they  never  thought  there  could  he 
in  all  the  world  so  rich  a  city;  and  they  marked  the  high  walls  and  strong 
towers  that  enclosed  it  round  about,  and  the  rich  palaces,  and  mighty 
churches  —  of  which  there  were  so  many  that  no  one  would  have  believed  it 
who  had  not  seen  it  with  his  eyes  —  and  the  height  and  length  of  that  city 
which  above  all  others  was  sovereign.  And  be  it  known  to  you,  that  no 
man  there  was  of  such  hardihood  but  his  flesh  trembled;  and  it  was  no 
wonder,  for  never  was  so  great  an  enterprise  undertaken  by  any  people 
since  the  creation  of  the  world. — Marzials'  G.  de  Villehardouin  :  "De 
la  Conqueste  de  Constantinople." 

To  many  people  the  colour  of  Stamboul  looks  purely 
Turkish  —  at  first  sight.  The  simplest  peasant  of  Asia 
Minor  could  not  look  at  it  often,  however,  without  notic- 
ing things  of  an  order  strange  to  him  —  a  sculptured  cap- 
ital lying  in  the  street,  bits  of  flowered  marble  set  into  a 
wall,  a  coKimn  as  high  as  a  minaret  standing  by  itself, 
a  dome  of  unfamiHar  shape,  and  mosque  walls  mysterious 
with  unreadable  letters  and  the  sacrilegious  picturing  of 
human  forms,  and  ruined  masonry  or  dark  subterranean 
vaultings  leading  ofl"  into  myth.  For  other  newcomers 
it  may  become  a  game  of  the  most  engrossing  kind  to 
track  out  these  old  things,  and  mark  how  Stamboul  has 
fitted  into  the  ruts  of  Byzantium,  and  hunt  for  some  lost 
piece  of  antiquity  that  no  one  else  has  found.  And  there 
are  men  for  whom  Stamboul  does  not  exist.  Through  it 
they  walk  as  in  some  inner  city  of  the  mind,  seeing  only 

74 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  75 

the  vanished  capital  of  the  Csesars.  Divan  Yolou  is  for 
them  the  Mese  of  old.  In  the  Hippodrome  they  still 
hear  the  thunder  of  Roman  chariots.  And  many  a  Turk- 
ish monument  has  interest  for  them  only  because  its 
marbles  are  anagrams  that  spell  anew  the  glory  of  the 
ancient  world. 

Need  I  say  that  I  am  no  such  man?  The  essential 
colour  of  Constantinople  is  for  me,  who  am  neither  Byzan- 
tinist  nor  Orientalist,  a  composite  one,  and  the  richer  for 
being  so.  I  confess  I  do  not  like  the  minarets  of  St. 
Sophia,  but  it  is  only  because  they  are  ugly.  I  am  sorry 
that  the  palace  of  Constantine  has  so  completely  dis- 
appeared, but  I  am  Phihstine  enough  to  suspect  that  the 
mosque  built  on  its  site  may  lift  quite  as  imposing  a  mass 
against  the  sky.  I  like  to  remember  that  the  most  im- 
portant street  of  Stamboul  was  the  Triumphal  Way  of 
the  Byzantine  emperors  —  and  earlier  still  the  home- 
stretch of  a  famous  Roman  road,  the  Via  Egnatia,  which 
continued  from  Dyrrhachium  on  the  Adriatic,  the  Du- 
razzo  of  Balkan  squabbles,  the  hne  of  the  Appian  Way; 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  sultans  added  interest  to 
that  historic  thoroughfare.  Nevertheless,  I  am  incon- 
sistent enough  to  be  sorry  that  Byzantinists  are  so  rare, 
and  to  be  a  little  jealous  of 

the  glory  that  was  Greece, 

And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  set  up  Constantinople  against 
Rome  or  Athens.  Without  them,  of  course,  she  would 
not  have  been  —  what  she  was.  But  I  do  maintain  that 
her  history  was  as  long,  that  she  played  a  role  no  less 
important  in  her  later  day,  and  that  without  her  our 
modern  world  could  never  have  been  quite  what  it  is. 
We  are  unjustly  inclined  to  forget  that  hnk  in  the  chain. 


76         CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

Different  from  Rome  and  Athens,  as  they  differed  from 
each  other,  Constantinople  fused  in  her  own  crucible, 
with  others  of  Oriental  origin,  the  elements  of  civilisa- 
tion which  they  furnished.  Out  of  these  elements  she 
formulated  a  new  rehgion,  created  the  architecture  to 
embody  it,  codified  a  system  of  law.  Having  thus  col- 
lected and  enriched  the  learning  of  antiquity,  she  be- 
queathed it  to  the  adolescent  Europe  of  the  Renaissance. 
We  are  accustomed  to  speak  of  the  dark  ages  that  fol- 
low^ed  the  fall  of  Rome.  There  was,  properly  speaking, 
no  darker  age  than  had  been.  The  centre  of  light  had 
merely  moved  eastward,  and  such  miserable  frontier  vil- 
lages as  London,  Paris,  and  Vienna  were  merely,  for  the 
time  being,  the  darker.  To  them  Constantinople  was 
what  Paris  is  to  us,  the  ville  lumiere,  and  far  more.  She 
was  the  centre  of  a  civilisation  whose  splendour  and  re- 
finement were  the  legend  of  the  West.  She  contained 
such  treasures  of  ancient  art  as  are  now  scattered  in  a 
thousand  museums.  Under  her  shadow  Athens  became 
a  sort  of  present-day  Oxford  or  Venice  and  Rome  not 
much  more  than  a  vociferous  BerKn.  Entirely  new  races 
—  Slavs,  Huns,  Turks  —  began  to  be  drawn  into  her  orbit, 
as  the  Gauls,  the  Britons,  and  the  Teutons  had  been  drawn 
by  Rome.  If  the  far-away  cities  of  Bagdad  and  Cordova 
felt  her  influence,  how  much  more  was  it  so  in  countries 
with  which  she  had  more  immediate  relations?  Italy  in 
particular,  and  Venice  above  ah  other  Italian  towns,  owe 
more  to  Constantinople  than  has  ever  been  appraised. 
Venice  would  always  have  been  Venice,  but  a  Venice 
without  the  St.  Mark's  we  know,  without  the  stolen 
horses  of  bronze,  w^ithout  the  piflars  of  the  Piazzetta,  with- 
out many  of  the  palaces  of  the  Grand  Canal,  without  the 
hon,  even,  which  is  as  Byzantine  as  Byzantine  can  be. 
Several  other  Italian  cities  contain  notable  examples  of 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE 


77 


Byzantine  architecture  or  decoration,  while  in  half  the 
collections  of  Europe  are  ivories,  reliquaries,  bits  of 
painting  and  mosaic  and  goldsmiths'  work  that  came  out 
of  Byzantium.     That  jewel  of  Paris,  the  Sainte-Chapelle, 


Reproduced  by  permission  of  C.  W.  Kraushaar,  N.  Y. 


St.  Sophia 

From  an  etching  by  Frank  Brangwyn 

is  not  Byzantine,  but  it  was  built  to  house  the  church 
treasures  from  Constantinople  which  were  a  part  of  the 
loot  of  the  fourth  crusade,  and  some  of  them  may  still 
be  seen  in  Notre  Dame.  Li  indirect  ways  the  account  is 
harder  to  reckon.  Some  authorities  find  a  Byzantine 
origin  for  so  remote  an  architectural  language  as  Ro- 
manesque building,  while  few  now  deny  that  the  Itahan 


78        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

school  of  painting  was  derived  directly  from  the  mosa- 
ics of  Constantinople.  All  admit,  at  any  rate,  that  the 
prodigious  movement  of  the  Renaissance  was  fed  by  the 
humanists  who  took  refuge  in  Italy  from  the  invading 
Turk. 

Yet  Constantinople  has  remained,  comparatively  to 
her  two  great  rivals,  an  undiscovered  country.  The 
Russians  are  alone  to  maintain  there  such  a  centre  of 
research  as  the  schools  of  Rome  and  Athens,  and  exca- 
vaters  take  it  for  granted  that  Stamboul  hides  nothing 
worth  their  trouble.  They  would  have  more  reason  if 
the  emperors  had  not  collected  so  many  of  the  master- 
pieces of  antiquity.  For  about  Athens  will  always  hn- 
ger  some  glamour  of  the  Periclean  'age,  and  its  sculpture, 
like  its  hterature,  remains  the  high-water  mark  of  a  cer- 
tain artistic  achievement.  The  case  of  Rome,  however, 
is  more  comphcated.  Rome  never  created  an  art  so  orig- 
inal as  Byzantine  architecture  or  Byzantine  mosaic;  and 
Justinian  it  was,  not  Csesar  or  Augustus,  who  carried 
Roman  law  to  such  a  point  that  no  principle  has  been 
added  to  it  since.  I  think  the  old  odium  theologicum 
must  have  something  to  do  with  the  fact  that  the  age  of 
Justinian  and  one  or  two  great  periods  that  followed  it 
enjoy  so  little  general  renown.  The  split  between  the 
churches  originally  destroyed  the  tradition  of  renown; 
and  because  we  are  of  the  West,  because  we  are  descended 
from  the  crusaders,  because  we  derive  our  religious  tradi- 
tions from  Rome,  we  still  entertain  some  vague  ances- 
tral prejudice  against  Orthodoxy  and  its  capital.  The 
present  masters  of  Constantinople  have,  of  course,  greatly 
encouraged  this  prejudice  by  taking  no  interest  them- 
selves in  the  history  of  the  city  or  allowing  others  to 
do  so.  Then  other  details  of  accessibihty  enter  into  the 
matter,  and  of  Language,  and  a  thousand  subtleties  of 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  79 

association.  Rome,  for  instance,  has  long  been  a  prov- 
ince of  European  literature.  Keats  and  Shelley  and 
Browning,  to  mention  only  later  English  poets,  and  I  know- 
not  how  many  others,  besides  generations  of  novelists 
and  playwrights  and  historians  and  travellers  and  paint- 
ers and  sculptors,  have  made  a  whole  pubhc  that  knows 
or  cares  very  httle  about  the  Caesars  feel  at  home  in 
Rome;  whereas  Gibbon  and  Byron  and  Lady  Mary 
Montagu  are  the  sole  greater  Enghsh  names  that  at- 
tach themselves  to  the  Bosphorus.  It  waters,  to  be 
sure,  a  much  larger  corner  of  French  literature.  And  the 
immense  learning  of  Gibbon  has  perhaps  done  more 
than  any  amount  of  ignorance  and  prejudice  to  weight 
the  scale  against  Constantinople. 

The  Rome  of  hterature  is  not  an  Augustan  Rome. 
It  is  the  Rome  of  the  popes,  the  Rome  of  the  Renaissance, 
the  Rome  of  galleries  and  haunted  palaces  and  enchanted 
villas  that  had  no  being  till  Constantinople  was  at  an 
end.  Or  it  is  a  simpler  Rome  still,  of  the  liquid  light, 
of  shops  and  theatres  and  hotels  and  a  friendly  court. 
Against  these  Romes  I  am  the  last  to  set  up  a  cry.  I 
merely  point  out  that  for  most  eyes  they  fill  up  the  pic- 
ture of  the  Eternal  City;  whereas  Constantinople  can 
be  looked  at  through  no  such  magnifying-glass.  Sacked 
of  her  wealth,  home  of  the  arts  no  more,  guarded  by 
jealous  keepers,  and  lacking  most  that  is  dear  to  the 
modern  wanderer's  heart,  how  should  she  compete  with 
Rome?  Only  in  one  respect  can  she  hold  her  own  un- 
challenged against  that  potent  rival,  for  by  no  stretch 
of  the  imagination  can  Rome,  crouching  on  her  seven 
ant-hills  beside  her  muddy  river,  be  given  the  pahn  of 
place  over  Constantinople.  And  the  campagna  of  Rome, 
that  stretches  so  vast  and  melancholy  on  many  an  elo- 
quent page,  is  but  a  dooryard  to  the  campagna  of  Con- 


8o        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

stantinople,    which    also    has    imperial    aqueducts,    and 
which   regards   older  than  Alban   hills   and  the  shining 
spaces  of  the  Marmora  dotted  by  high  islands,  and  far 
away   behind   them,    like   Alps   seen   across   a   Venetian 
lagoon,  the  blue  range,  capped  three  parts  of  the  year 
with  snow,  of  the  Bithynian  Olympus. 
•     I  follow,  however,  but  an  unprofitable  trail.     Rome 
is  Rome  and  Constantinople  is  Constantinople.     And  a 
day  will  no  doubt  come  for  the  latter  when  some  other 
impressionist  will  sigh  for  the  unexploited  days  of  yore. 
One  of  the  charms   of  Constantinople,   indeed,   is  that 
mystery  still  has  room  there  and  one  may  always  hope 
for  treasure-trove.     The  sacks  of  1204  and  1453  undoubt- 
edly made  away  with  the  better  part  of  the  statuary 
and  other  precious  things  of  which  Constantinople  was 
so  unparalleled  a  museum,  but  some  buried  Greek  mar- 
ble may  yet  come  to  light.     The  soil  of  Stamboul  is  vir- 
gin so  far  as  excavation  is  concerned,  and  you  have  no 
more  than  to  scratch  it  to  pick  up  something  —  if  only  a 
coin   or  a  bit  of  broken   pottery.     Until  very  recently, 
digging  for  foundations  was  the  sole  thing  of  the  sort 
permitted.     Some  most  interesting  discoveries  have  been 
made  m  this  casual  way.     Quite  a  museum,  for  example, 
could  have  been  formed  of  the  different  objects  found  in 
the  grounds  where  the  American  missionaries  have  their 
headquarters.     While  digging,   in   1872,   for  the  founda- 
tions of  the  main  building,  an  ancient  burial-ground  was 
unearthed.     The  bones,  with  lamps  and  other  small  ob- 
jects, were  protected  by  great  tiles  set  triangularly  to- 
gether, and  inside  each  skull  was  a  Roman  coin  of  early 
imperial  times,  which  once  paid,  I  suppose,  a  passage  over 
Styx.     Near  by  were  ruins  of  masonry  which  indicated 
by  their  shape  a  church.     Under  a  later  building  coins 
and  tiles  of  the  period  of  Constans  were  found.     A  beau- 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  8i 

tiful  Corinthian  column  also  came  to  light,  and  a  life- 
sized  marble  statue.  When  ground  was  broken  for  the 
third  building,  on  the  site  of  a  Turkish  konak,  an  old  man 
came  to  the  American  in  charge  and  asked  for  a  private 
interview.  He  then  introduced  himself  as  an  Armenian 
whose  ancestors  had  been  courtiers  of  the  last  emperor 
Constantine.  From  them,  he  said,  a  tradition  had  been 
handed  down  in  his  family  about  the  ground  where  the 
Turkish  house  had  stood.  "When  you  dig  into  the 
ground,"  he  said,  "vou  will  come  to  an  iron  door.  When 
you  open  the  door  you  will  see  stone  steps.  When  you 
go  down  the  steps  you  will  come  into  a  sort  of  room. 
Then  j^ou  will  fmd  a  passage  leading  underground  in  the 
direction  of  St.  Sophia  —  and  in  it  gold,  jewels,  statues, 
all  manner  of  things  that  the  emperor  and  his  friends 
put  there  for  safety  during  the  last  siege.  I  only  ask 
you  to  give  me  half!"  The  missionary  thought  the 
Armenian  mad  and  treated  him  accordingly.  But  the 
old  man  spent  all  his  time  watching  the  work.  And  one 
day  the  diggers  uncovered  a  metal  door  lying  horizon- 
tally in  the  earth.  With  some  difficulty  they  succeeded 
in  jacking  the  door  off  the  masonry  in  which  the  hinges 
were  embedded,  and  underneath  steps  appeared,  going 
down  into  a  black  void.  At  that  the  missionary  began 
to  be  interested.  W'hen  the  workmen  were  out  of  the 
way  he  went  down  with  the  Armenian  to  explore.  They 
descended  into  the  subterranean  vault  they  expected.  It 
was  held  up  by  marble  pillars  with  crosses  on  the  capi- 
tals. But  when  they  came  to  look  for  the  passage  they 
discovered  that  one  end  of  the  vault,  the  end  toward 
St.  Sophia,  had  been  cut  off  by  a  wall  of  more  recent 
date.  That  wall,  as  it  happens,  belongs  to  the  great 
building  known  as  the  Vahdeh  Han,  erected  by  the 
famous  validcb  soultan  Kvossem.     After  her  death  were 


82        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

found,  among  other  property  of  hers  stored  there,  twenty 
chests  of  ducats.  And  when  I  read  about  them  I  could 
not  help  wondering  whether  any  of  those  ducats  came 
from  the  passage  which  the  sultana's  workmen  must  ac- 
cidentally have  struck  into  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

Constantinople  is  full  of  stories  and  legends  of  the 
same  sort,  in  most  of  which  figures  a  secret  passage 
leading  underground  to  St.  Sophia.  I  have  poked  my 
own  nose  into  two  or  three  such  tunnels,  which  no  Turk 
ever  constructed,  and  can  vouch  for  their  existence. 
In  reality,  however,  there  is  nothing  very  mysterious 
about  them.  The  soil  of  Stamboul  is  honeycombed  with 
cisterns  of  all  sizes,  from  the  enormous  ones  picturesquely 
called  by  the  Turks  the  Sunken  Palace  and  the  Thou- 
sand and  One  Columns  to  the  small  one  of  the  Bible 
House  and  Valideh  Han.  Others,  hke  the  cistern  beside 
the  mosque  of  Sultan  Schm  I,  were  always  uncovered. 
These  are  usually  called  choukour  bostan,  hollow  garden, 
from  the  fact  that  vegetable  gardens  are  wont  to  flour- 
ish in  the  accumulated  silt  of  their  centuries.  Brick 
conduits  connect  many  of  the  reservoirs  with  a  water- 
system  which  Hadrian  is  known  to  have  installed  or  en- 
larged while  Rome  was  still  the  capital  of  the  empire. 
And  it  was  only  natural  for  such  conduits  to  lead  toward 
St.  Sophia,  the  civic  centre  of  the  town.  We  also  know 
that  Constantine  constructed  deep  sewers,  on  the  lines 
of  the  cloaca  of  Rome.  But  as  no  one  has  ever  been  able 
to  study  these  systems  thoroughly,  there  remains  some- 
thing half  mythic  about  them. 

Another  casual  but  more  dramatic  way  in  which  old 
Constantinople  proves  her  temper  of  eternity  is  by  means 
of  the  fires  that  periodically  ravage  Stamboul.  There  is 
no  more  striking  suggestion  of  Stambouls  within  Stam- 
boul than  to  look  at  the  ashes  of  some  familiar,  of  some 


OLD  CONSTANTINOPLE 


83 


regretted  quarter,  and  discover  there  a  solid  piece  of 
antiquity  about  which  houses  have  been  built  and 
burned  who  knows  how  many  times.  In  my  own  day 
the  Column  of  Marcian  has  reappeared  on  its  hilltop 
overlooking  the  Marmora,  having  long  been  lost  in  the 


The  Alyrelaiun 


yard  of  a  Turkish  house.  And  I  have  seen  the  obscure 
mosque  of  Boudroun  Jami  gallantly  reassert  itself  above 
the  ruin  of  its  quarter  as  the  charming  little  tenth-cen- 
tury church  of  the  Myrelaion  —  the  convent  of  Myrrh 
and  OiL  The  fires  which  an  archaeologist  might  best 
have  been  suspected  of  setting  were  those  of  19 12  and 
191 3,  which   swept  the  slope  between   the  Hippodrome 


84        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

and  the  jMarmora.  This  was  the  site  of  the  Sacred  Palace 
of  the  later  Roman  emperors.  No  complete  account  of 
it  remains,  but  from  the  reports  of  ambassadors  and  other 
visitors  of  note,  from  references  of  historians,  and  from 
the  Book  of  Ceremonies  of  the  emperor  Constantine 
Porphyrogenitus,  scholars  have  been  able  to  reconstitute 
that  city  of  palaces,  churches,  terraces,  and  gardens  that 
overlapped  on  one  side  a  corner  of  the  present  Seraglio 
grounds  and  reached  on  the  other  nearly  to  the  church 
of  SS.  Sergius  and  Bacchus.  Constantine  the  Great  was 
the  founder  of  this  imperial  residence.  His  Palace  of 
Daphne,  so  called  from  a  statue  of  the  nymph  he  brought 
from  Rome,  stood  on  the  site  of  the  mosque  of  Sultan 
Ahmed  I,  and  other  structures  bordered  the  Hippo- 
drome, opening  by  a  monumental  gateway  into  the 
Augustseum,  now  the  square  of  St.  Sophia.  To  Constan- 
tine also  was  attributed  the  magnificent  hall  of  the 
Magnaura,  which  Ebersolt  places  a  little  south  and 
west  of  the  present  Ministry  of  Justice.  Here  was  the 
throne  of  Solomon,  imitated  from  the  one  described  in 
the  Book  of  Kings,  whose  fame  has  come  down  in  the 
memoirs  of  more  than  one  amazed  ambassador.  It  was 
guarded  by  golden  lions  which,  during  audiences  of  state, 
rose  to  their  feet,  beat  their  tails  on  the  floor,  and  roared, 
while  golden  birds  in  a  tree  behind  the  throne  began  to 
chirp  and  flutter  among  the  golden  boughs.  Still  another 
construction  attributed  to  Constantine  was  the  Porphyra, 
the  little  porphyry  palace  near  the  sea  where  the  im- 
perial children  were  born. 

I  cannot  attempt  even  to  catalogue  the  other  splen- 
dours of  this  unparalleled  enclosure  or  the  names  of 
those  who  continued,  during  six  hundred  years,  to  add 
palace  to  palace,  one  richer  than  another  in  jewelled 
furniture,  in  the  new  jewelry  of  mosaic,  in  the  spoils  of 


OLD  CONSTANTINOPLE  85 

ancient  art.  Nicephorus  Phocas  was  the  last  emperor 
to  do  so,  when  he  enlarged  and  fortified  the  waterside 
Palace  of  Bucoleon.  By  the  eleventh  century  the  em- 
perors had  begun  to  prefer  the  Palace  of  Blacherne.  But 
Boniface,  Marquis  of  Montferrat,  found  the  great  ladies 
of  the  court  assembled  in  the  Bucoleon  when  the  cru- 
saders occupied  the  city  in  1204,  and  after  the  restoration 
of  1 26 1  Michael  Palseologus  lived  there  until  Blacherne 
could  be  put  in  order.  From  that  time  on  the  Great 
Palace  fell  rapidly  into  decay.  When  the  Florentine 
Buondelmonte  visited  it  early  in  the  fifteenth  century  it 
was  already  a  ruin.  Its  condition  in  1453  suggested  to 
the  Turkish  conqueror  the  Persian  distich  which  has  been 
so  often  requoted:  "The  spider  has  woven  his  web  in  the 
palace  of  kings,  and  the  owl  hath  sung  her  watch-song 
on  the  towers  of  Afrasiab."  By  the  sixteenth  century 
little  w^as  left  of  it  but  a  few  columns  and  the  ruins  of  the 
Bucoleon.  The  colossal  group  of  a  lion  and  a  bull,  which 
gave  the  smaller  palace  its  name,  still  stood  on  the  old 
quay  of  the  imperial  galleys  in  1532,  when  it  was  turned 
around  by  an  earthquake.  Is  it  impossible  that  that 
marble  might  yet  be  recovered  from  the  sand  of  the  shore? 
The  westernmost  of  the  palaces  composing  the  Bucoleon, 
the  one  associated  with  the  name  of  the  Persian  prince 
Hormisdas,  who  came  as  an  exile  to  the  court  of  Constan- 
tine  the  Great,  was  pulled  down  as  late  as  1871,  when  the 
Roumelian  railway  was  built.  Two  lions  from  a  balcon}' 
of  its  sea  facade  now  flank  the  east  staircase  of  the  Im- 
perial Museum.  The  ruins  of  the  eastern  palace,  the 
so-called  House  of  Justinian,  where  the  great  emperor 
may  very  well  have  lived  before  he  came  to  the  throne, 
were  barely  saved  by  the  Friends  of  Stamboul  when  the 
railway  was  double-tracked  in  191 2.  To-day  this  pile 
of  ancient  brickwork,  rising  from  the  edge  of  the  Mar- 


86 


CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD  AND   NEW 


mora,  is  almost  the  last  vestige  of  the  palace  whose  legen- 
dary splendour  filled  so  many  mediaeval  pages.  On  the 
slope  behind  it  the  fires  to  which  I  have  referred  laid  bare 
several  Byzantine  terraces,  the  entrances  to  a  number  of 
vaulted  substructures,  and  a  tower  which  had  been  in- 
corporated into  the  surrounding  houses.     Might  it  be, 


The  House  of  Justinian 


perhaps,  the  tower  of  the  Great  Admiral  Apocaucus, 
which  he  built  as  a  prison  for  John  Cantacuzene  but  in 
which  he  himself  was  murdered  in  1345?  I  am  not  the 
one  to  say.  But  that  Palatine  Hill,  so  long  the  centre  of 
the  world,  where  so  much  has  been  enacted  that  is  most 
coloured  and  passionate  of  life,  and  which  now  looks  so 
quietly  at  its  quiet  sea  — •  and  there  is  a  blue  keeps  no 
trace  of  all  the  keels  that  have  scarred  it  from  the  time 
of  the  Argonauts!  —  that  Palatine  Hill  has  an  immense 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  87 

attraction  for  me.  And  I  marvel  that  no  one  has  yet 
taken  advantage  of  its  present  accessibihty  to  learn  pre- 
cisely what,  after  so  many  fires  and  earthquakes  and  other 
spoilers,  may  be  left  of  its  old  arrangement. 

A  Palatine  Hill  which  might  reveal  more  dominates 
the   opposite   end   of  the    city.     This    ridge    above   the 
Golden  Horn  is  the  site  of  the  palace  whose  name  of 
Blacherne  —  or  Vlaherni  as  I  should  be  tempted  to  write 
it  if  I  were  not  afraid  of  my  friends  the  Byzantinists  — 
seems  to  have  been  derived  from  that  of  some  barbarian 
settler.     Was  he  haply  a  Wallachian?     He  settled,  at  all 
events,   on  this  hilltop  in  pre-Constantinian  days,   and 
outside  the  line  of  the   Constantinian,   or  even  of  the 
Theodosian,  walls.     It  was  only  in  the  seventh  century 
that  the   emperor   Heraclius   threw   a  wall   outside  the 
quarter.     Which  emperor  first  built  a  palace  there  is  not 
known,  but  Anastasius  I  enlarged  one  as  early  as  the 
fifth  century.     In  457  the  pious   Pulcheria,   the  virgin 
empress   of  Marcian,   founded  the  celebrated  shrine  of 
the  Madonna  of  Blacherne.     Restored  and  enlarged  in 
different  reigns,   it  was  the   object   of  several  of  those 
annual    imperial    pilgrimages    which   played    so   large   a 
part  in  the  life  of  the  ancient  city.     There  was  even  a 
day  in  the  year  when  the  emperors  bathed  in  the  Holy 
Well  of  the  church.     This  ayazma  may    still  be  seen  in 
the  waterside  quarter  of  Balat.     The  name  Balat  is  a 
Turkish  corruption  of  the  Greek  word  for  palace,  and 
A'ivan  Serai,  as  the  adjoining  quarter  is  called,  means  the 
Palace  of  the  Balcony.     These  names  are  another  re- 
minder of  the  palace  that  figures  so  often  in  the  chronicles 
of  the  crusades.     Of  the  palace  itself  more  remains  than 
of  the  Great  Palace,  though  it  still  waits  for  a  Labarte  or 
an  Ebersolt.     Bits  of  masonry  erop  out  of  the  ground  or 
stand  visibly  among  the  houses  all  the  way  up  the  hill. 


88        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

Indeed,  I  suspect  that  a  good  deal  of  the  hill  itself  is  arti- 
ficial. Such,  at  least,  is  the  case  of  the  high  terrace  bor- 
dering the  city  wall  where  the  mosque  of  AiVas  Effendi 
faces  two  ivy-mantled  towers.  An  innocent-looking  hole 
in  the  courtyard  of  the  mosque  winds  down  into  a  black 
subterranean  maze  of  passages,  stairways,  cells,  and  tiers 
of  arches  chmbing  above  bottomless  pits.  So  much  earth 
and  rubbish  have  sifted  into  this  extraordinary  labyrinth 
that  its  true  extent  can  only  be  guessed  at  until  it  is 
systematically  excavated.  In  the  meantime,  archseology 
has  been  very  busy  discussing  which  of  the  two  contiguous 
towers  that  form  a  part  of  it  was  the  tower  of  Anemas, 
and  whether  either  of  them  was  the  tower  of  the  emperor 
Isaac  Angelus.  The  Anemas  in  question  was  a  Byzan- 
tinised  Arab,  descendant  of  the  Emir  who  surrendered 
Crete  to  Nicephorus  Phocas,  and  he  had  the  honour  of 
being  the  first  of  many  prisoners  of  state  to  be  shut  up 
in  his  tower.  Whichever  it  may  have  been,  however, 
the  most  unarchseological  visitor  is  capable  of  enjoying 
a  dip  into  that  romantic  darkness  and  the  view,  from 
the  terrace,  of  a  cypressed  country  beside  the  Golden 
Horn. 

On  top  of  the  hill  stands  the  well-preserved  ruin  known 
in  Turkish  as  Tekfour  Serai',  the  Palace  of  the  Crown- 
Wearer.  As  to  its  real  name,  there  has  been  the  most 
fanciful  variety  of  opinions.  The  palace  is  now  generally 
supposed,  however,  to  have  been  built  in  the  tenth  cen- 
tury by  Constantine  Porphyrogenitus.  It  seems  to  have 
been  separate  from  the  Palace  of  Blacherne,  though  on 
the  analogy  of  the  Great  Palace  it  may  have  belonged 
to  the  same  group.  Architects  as  well  as  archaeologists 
take  a  particular  interest  in  Tekfour  Serai,  because  it  is 
the  only  authentic  piece  of  ck)mestic  building  left  of 
Byzantine  Constantinople.     The  main  facade  is  divided 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  89 

into  three  tiers  of  arched  windows  and  ornamented  by  a 
mosaic  of  dark  and  light  stone  that  recalls  the  brickwork 
of  later  Byzantine  churches.  What  the  general  effect  does 
not  recall  is  the  Venetian  version  of  Byzantine  civil  archi- 
tecture. We  should  not  take  that  version  too  literally, 
of  course,  any  more  than  the  Venetian  Gothic;  but  St. 
Mark's  is  so  true  a  transcription  of  a  Byzantine  church 
—  without  the  crockets  —  that  one  has  the  more  faith 
in  the  palaces.  The  difference  may  be  chiefly  one  of 
periods.  It  is  noticeable  that  the  spacing  of  the  arches 
of  Tekfour  Serai  is  not  like  that  of  the  Fondaco  del  Turchi, 
to  whose  designed  irregularity  Ruskin  drew  attention. 
Neither  has  the  checker-work  of  the  facade  anything  in 
common  with  the  plaques  of  porphyry  and  serpentine  re- 
flected in  the  Grand  CanaL  It  suggests,  rather,  the 
checker-work  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  The  first  tier  of 
arches,  too,  looks  like  the  same  kind  of  ground  arcade. 
Is  it  possible  that  any  influence  interacted  between  the 
two  palaces?  If  so  the  presumption  would  be  that  it 
worked  in  Venice,  under  a  Gothic  cloak;  for  the  Ducal 
Palace,  or  the  lagoon  front  of  it,  belongs  to  the  century 
after  the  Latin  occupation  of  Constantinople.  In  the 
light  of  my  question  this  latter  detail  is  interesting,  since 
the  features  I  have  noted  decorate  only  the  sea  facade 
of  Tekfour  Serai".  The  question  lies  so  near  the  fan- 
tastic, however,  and  so  far  from  any  track  of  sober 
archaeology  where  I  have  happened  to  browse,  that  I 
merely  ask  it  and  hurry  on,  leaving  for  some  happy  ex- 
pert, with  means  to  excavate  and  knowledge  to  com- 
pare, to  state  the  true  affiliations  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Porphyrogenitus. 

The   richest   remains   of  old   Constantinople   are   its 
churches.     Little  as  they   are  generally   known,   almost 


90 


CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 


every  one  knows  something  about  the  greatest  of  them. 
There  seems  to  me  a  peculiar  fitness  in  the  name  of 
Justinian's  cathedral,  which  is  not  exactly  rendered  by 
its  current  vocable.  It  was  not  dedicated  to  any  saint, 
but  to  the  Divine  Wisdom;  and  the  Turks  still  call  it 
Aya  Sojya.  The  cross  no  longer  surmounts  that  old 
cathedral,  it  is  true,  nor  are  Christian  forms  of  worship 


The  Palace  of  the  Porphyrogenitus 


permitted  within  its  walls.  In  the  divine  wisdom,  how- 
ever, there  is  room  for  more  than  one  form  of  w^orship. 
And  St.  Sophia,  whose  marbles,  borrowed  from  half  the 
temples  of  antiquity,  have  beautified  the  rites  not  only 
of  Mohammed  and  of  Christ,  but  of  Apollo,  of  Pallas, 
of  Asiatic  Cybcle,  of  Egyptian  Isis  and  Osiris  and  how 
many  older  divinities  of  the  pagan  world,  seems  to  me 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  91 

more  than  any  other  temple  to  express  what  is  universal 
in  religion,  stripped  of  all  pettinesses  of  creed.  I  shall 
make  no  attempt  to  analyse  the  elements  of  so  supreme 
an  expression.  One  is  silenced,  too,  in  the  face  of  so 
many  human  associations.  A  thousand  years  before  St. 
Peter's  that  great  dome  swung  in  the  Byzantine  air,  and 
under  it  one  is  bewildered  by  a  cloud  of  ghosts.  Yet 
impressions  detach  themselves  —  of  space,  of  hght,  of  an 
immense  distinction.  All  the  little  Turkish  rearrange- 
ments are  swallowed  up  in  it,  as  must  have  been  the 
glitter  of  the  Greek  ritual.  Decoration  has  no  part  in 
the  nobility  of  that  effect.  There  is  nothing  to  hide. 
Each  of  those  leaping  arches  and  soaring  domes  does 
something  —  and  in  a  way!  But  there  is  also  a  perfec- 
tion of  detail,  rich,  coloured,  as  if  suffused  by  a  glamour 
of  dusky  gold  that  is  between  the  white  morning  clarity 
of  paganism  and  the  Gothic  twilight. 

The  churches  of  Constantinople  neither  begin  nor 
end  with  St.  Sophia,  however.  The  oldest  of  them  is 
St.  John  the  Baptist  of  the  Studion,  so  called  from  the 
Roman  senator  Studius  who  about  463  founded  a  mon- 
astery near  the  Golden  Gate.  The  monks  by  whom  this 
monastery  was  first  peopled  belonged  to  the  order  known 
as  the  Sleepless  Ones,  because  by  a  system  of  relays 
they  kept  up  an  unending  series  of  offices.  Neverthe- 
less, they  found  time  to  gain  renown  as  copyists  and  il- 
luminators of  manuscripts,  and  some  of  the  hymns  they 
wrote  are  still  sung.  The  monks  took  the  unpopular 
side  against  the  iconoclastic  emperors,  but  after  the 
triumph  of  the  iconodules,  in  the  ninth  century,  the  Stu- 
dion became  the  most  important  monastery  in  the  city. 
Its  abbot  took  precedence  of  all  other  abbots.  The  em- 
perors visited  it  annually  in  state.  Two  of  them  even 
exchanged  their  crowns  for  its  habit.     In   1054  several 


92        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

meetings  took  place  there  between  Constantine  X  and 
the  legates  who  had  come  from  Rome  to  settle  the  dif- 
ferences between  the  Pope  and  the  Patriarch.  Cardinal 
Humbert  finally  settled  those  differences  by  laying  on 
the  altar  of  St.  Sophia  a  bull  of  excommunication  against 
the  Patriarch  Cerularius  and  all  his  followers.  That 
was  the  first  definite  schism  between  the  churches.  When 
Michael  Palseologus  drove  the  Latin  emperors  from  Con- 
stantinople in  1 26 1,  he  made  the  first  part  of  his  triumphal 
entry  on  foot  from  the  Golden  Gate  to  the  Studion.  In 
front  of  him  went  in  a  chariot  the  famous  icon  of  the 
68r]yi]Tpia,  the  Showcr  of  the  Way,  which  he  left  in 
the  church.  This  sacred  painting,  ascribed  to  the  pro- 
lific brush  of  St.  Luke,  was  acquired  with  other  relics  in 
Jerusalem  by  Eudoxia,  empress  of  Theodosius  11.  She 
gave  it  to  her  sister-in-law  Pulcheria,  who  built  a  special 
church  for  it  on  Seraglio  Point.  The  rehc  gradually  took 
the  place  of  the  Palladium  which  Constantine  brought 
from  Rome.  It  was  prayed  to  in  battles,  shown  from 
the  walls  in  sieges,  carried  in  triumphs,  and  annually 
borne  in  procession  to  the  Great  Palace  for  the  cere- 
monies of  Easter.  The  Studion  possessed  other  precious 
relics  of  its  own,  such  as  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist 
and  the  Sacred  Lance.  Several  persons  of  importance 
were  buried  in  the  precincts  of  the  monastery.  Among 
them  was  a  Turkish  prince,  son  of  Baiezid  the  Thunder- 
bolt, who  died  there  of  the  plague  in  14 17.  Brought  up 
as  a  hostage  at  the  court  of  Manuel  Pakeologus,  he  be- 
came a  Christian,  but  for  fear  of  incurring  his  father's 
displeasure  the  monks  would  not  baptise  him  till  his 
last  illness.  It  was  under  Baiczid  II  that  the  monastery 
passed  into  Turkish  hands.  By  way  of  compensation 
the  Sultan  sent  to  the  Pope  of  the  day,  who  happened  to 
be  Alexander  Borgia,  the  Sacred  Lance  and  other  relics. 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE 


93 


An  order  of  dervishes  followed  the  monks  of  the  Studion, 
and  the  church  of  St.  John  is  now  called  Emir  Ahor  or 
Imrahor  Jamisi,  the  mosque  of  the  Chief  of  the  Stables. 


Interior  of  the  Studion 


Of  the  monastery  very  httle  remains  save  a  fine  cis- 
tern and  a  few  fragments  of  wall.  Little  more  will  soon 
be  left  of  the  church  unless  something  be  done  to  save 
it.  A  heavy  fall  of  snow  crushed  in  the  roof  a  few  years 
ago,  and  the  powers  that  be  have  not  yet  found  means 


94        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

or  inclination  to  preserve  that  monument  of  a  past  in 
which  they  had  no  part.  The  church  is  interesting  not 
only  because  it  is  the  oldest  in  Constantinople  and  asso- 
ciated with  so  much  history,  but  because  it  is  the  one 
pure  basihca  extant  in  the  city.  The  best-preserved 
parts  of  it  are  the  walls  of  the  narthex,  where  are  still 
visible  the  remnants  of  colonnades  with  a  fine  entabla- 
ture of  an  early  transition  period  from  Corinthian  to 
Byzantine.  After  the  disuse  of  the  basilica  as  a  mosque, 
the  Russian  Archaeological  Institute  obtained  permission 
to  investigate  it  and  made  some  interesting  discoveries. 
The  north  wall  of  the  mosque  yard  was  scraped  of  its 
plaster  and  was  found  to  contain  ancient  bricks  dis- 
posed in  the  form  of  a  cross,  proving  that  the  Turkish 
court  takes  the  place  of  an  early  Christian  atrium.  In 
the  south  aisle  of  the  interior  three  graves  were  found 
corresponding  perfectly  to  the  description  of  the  last 
resting-place  of  the  great  abbot  Theodore  of  the  ninth 
century.  An  underground  passage  was  also  opened, 
leading  from  the  bema  to  the  adjoining  cistern,  and  the 
foundations  contained  evidence  of  a  more  ancient  sub- 
structure. But  the  most  interesting  discovery  was  that 
of  a  beautiful  marble  pavement  beneath  the  Turkish 
floor,  in  which  figures  of  men  and  animals  were  framed 
in  marble  between  squares,  disks,  and  geometrical  curves 
of  porphyry  and  serpentine.  Unfortunately,  some  dis- 
agreement arose  between  the  Russians  and  the  Minis- 
try of  Pious  Foundations,  and  the  work  was  stopped. 
Nothing  was  done,  however,  to  protect  the  ruined  ba- 
silica, and  the  last  time  I  saw  it  the  pavement  was  lost 
in  weeds. 

There  are  some  twenty-five  other  buildings  in  Stam- 
boul  that  were  originally  Byzantine  churches.  That  is, 
of  course,  but  a  small  proportion  of  the  multitude  that 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  95 

astonished  Villehardouin  and  his  men.  Covering  as  they 
do  a  period  of  ten  centuries,  however,  they  exhibit  most 
interestingly  the  gradual  development  of  ecclesiastical 
architecture  from  the  Roman  basilica  to  the  high-domed 
trefoil  church  of  the  fourteenth  century.  This  develop- 
ment is  not  always  easy  to  follow,  as  in  some  cases  the 
churches  have  been  much  altered  to  suit  Turkish  needs. 
The  orientation  of  a  mosque,  for  instance,  differs  from 
that  of  a  church,  since  the  mihrab  must  face  Mecca,  and 
actual  changes  of  structure  have  occasionally  resulted. 
Then,  of  course,  all  interior  decoration  too  visibly  repre- 
senting Christian  symbols  or  the  human  form  has  been 
destroyed  or  covered  up.  And  a  good  deal  of  exterior 
brickwork  has  disappeared  under  plaster  and  whitewash. 
Consequently  the  prowler  in  Stamboul  is  on  the  look- 
out, if  he  have  the  least  tinge  of  archaeology  in  him,  for 
anything  that  may  hint  at  a  pre-Turkish  origin.  Not 
that  very  much  can  remain  above  ground  to  discover. 
After  so  much  careful  searching  it  will  only  be  a  small 
built-in  structure  or  fragment  that  will  come  to  hght. 
But  several  of  the  attributions  of  churches  are  disputed. 
Their  true  names  were  lost  with  their  original  worship- 
pers, and  it  is  a  comparatively  short  time  since  Chris- 
tians have  been  free  to  circulate  at  will  in  the  Turkish 
quarters  of  StambouL  And  there  is  reason  to  hope  that 
under  many  a  piece  of  baroque  stencilHng  an  old  mosaic 
waits  to  be  laid  bare. 

The  art  of  mosaic  existed,  of  course,  long  before 
Constantine.  But  glass  mosaics  containing  a  fihii  of 
gold  were  the  invention  of  the  later  empire,  and  the 
Byzantine  architects  made  vast  use  of  them.  What  a 
museum  of  this  splendid  art  Constantinople  must  once 
have  been  we  can  only  guess.  Ravenna,  however,  early 
became  important  for  the  study  of  mosaics,  for  in  the 


96        CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

capital  of  Justinian  many  of  his  masterpieces  were 
destroyed  during  the  iconoclastic  controversy.  And  to- 
day Salonica,  Venice,  Sicily,  and  a  few  widely  scattered 
monasteries  contain  the  chief  remaining  specimens.  In 
Constantinople,  where  palaces,  churches,  public  mon- 
uments and  private  houses  without  number  were  tapes- 
tried with  mosaic,  there  are  in  1914  only  four  buildings 
where  anything  is  visible  of  this  lost  art.  The  atten- 
dants of  St.  Sophia  used  to  make  quite  an  income  by  sell- 
ing mosaics  which  they  picked  out  of  the  walls  of  the 
galleries.  This  infamous  commerce  has  now  been  checked, 
but  there  is  no  telling  what  ravages  were  committed 
while  it  flourished.  The  earthquake  of  1894  was  also 
disastrous  for  the  decoration  of  the  mosque,  correspond- 
ingly enlarging  the  area  of  plaster  in  the  nave.  The 
vaulting  of  the  aisles  and  galleries,  however,  the  soffits 
of  the  arcades,  and  the  inner  narthex  still  contain  a 
greater  extent  of  mosaic,  and  presumably  older,  than 
exists  elsewhere  in  the  city.  The  church  of  St.  Irene, 
long  a  Turkish  armoury  and  now  a  military  museum,  also 
contains,  in  the  narthex,  a  little  mosaic  which  may  be 
of  Justinian's  time.  That  of  the  apse  belongs  to  the 
restoration  of  the  church  during  the  iconoclastic  period. 
And  in  a  chapel  of  the  eighth-century  church  of  the 
All-blessed  Virgin,  now  Fetich  Jami,  w^here  the  figures 
of  Christ  and  twelve  prophets  still  look  down  from  a 
golden  dome,  we  have  work  of  a  much  later  period  — 
probably  the  fourteenth  century.  But  a  far  finer  exam- 
ple of  the  work  of  that  period  is  to  be  seen  in  Kahrieh 
Jami,  once  Our  Saviour  in  the  Fields. 

Kahrieh  Jami,  popularly  known  as  the  mosaic  mosque, 
is  in  every  way  one  of  the  most  interesting  monuments 
of  Constantinople.  Like  Imrahor  Jamisi  it  was  origi- 
nally the   church  of  a  monastery,   and  its  history  goes 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE 


97 


back  as  far.  Like  the  Studion,  also,  it  suffered  from  the 
quarrels  of  iconoclasm,  it  gave  hospitality  at  a  historic 
moment  —  namely  during  the  last  siege  —  to  the  mi- 
raculous icon  of  the  Shower  of  the  Way,  and  it  fell  into 
Turkish  hands  during  the  reign  of  Baiezid  IL  Kahrieh 
Jami  means  the  Mosque  of  Woe,  from  the  scenes  that 


Kahrieh  Jami 


were  enacted  there  when  the  Turks  stormed  the  walls. 
The  church  seems  always  to  have  had  a  particular  con- 
nection with  Syria.  The  abbot  Theodore,  an  uncle  of 
Justinian's  empress,  came  to  it  from  Antioch  in  530. 
Again  in  the  ninth  century,  when  the  iconoclasts  were 
finally  beaten,  the  celebrated  Syrian  monk  Michael  was 
made  abbot,  while  pilgrims  from  Syria  always  made  the 
monastery  their  headquarters.  The  church  we  know  was 
not  the  church  built  outside  the  walls  of  Constantine  as 


98        CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

early,  it  ma}^  be,  as  the  fourth  century.  The  original 
church  was  successively  rebuilt  in  the  sixth  century  — 
by  Justinian  —  in  the  seventh,  in  the  ninth,  and  in  the 
eleventh  or  at  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth.  To  this 
latter  restoration  by  Mary  Ducas,  a  princess  with  Bul- 
garian blood  in  her  veins,  the  church  owes  its  present- 
lines  and  perhaps  a  part  of  its  interior  decoration. 


WmStjfm 

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W 

^^K^        -9 

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■ 

1 

I^P^^' 

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Photograph  by  Sebah  and  Joaillier,  Constantinople 

Mosaic  from  Kahrich  Jami:  Theodore  Metochites 
offering  his  church  to  Christ 

The  last  of  the  Byzantine  restorers  was  a  personage 
who  recalls,  as  he  anticipated,  the  humanists  of  the 
Renaissance.  His  name  was  Theodore  Metochites,  and 
you  may  see  him  in  a  great  striped  turban  kneeling  over 
the  royal  door  of  the  inner  narthex,  offering  a  model  of 
his  church  to  the  seated  Christ.  He  was  what  we  call 
nowadays,  though  his  history  has  been  repeated  in  every 
time  and  country,  a  self-made  man;  and  like  more 
than  one  of  those  who  have  risen  from  nothing  to  the 
height  of  power,  he  outlived  his  fortune.     Born  of  poor 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  99 

parents   in   Nicsea,  the  city  of  the  creed,  and  early  left 
an  orphan,  he  went  as  a  young  man  to  Constantinople, 
where  he  succeeded  by  his  handsome  presence  and  his 
talent  as  an   orator  in  attracting  the  attention  of  the 
emperor  Andronicus   IL     He  was,  however,  more  than 
an  orator.     He  aspired  to  be  a  poet  as  well,  and  some 
of  his   not  too   intelhgible  verses   have  been  translated 
into  German.     In  history  he  took  a  particular  interest. 
He  became  the  chief  astronomer  of  his  time.     His  fa- 
vourite pupil  in  the  latter  science  was  Nicephorus  Gre- 
goras,  a  monk  of  Our  Saviour  in  the  Fields,  who,  three 
hundred  years  before  Gregory  XIII,  proposed  to  rectify 
the  Julian  calendar.     If  Greek  priests  reahsed  this  fact, 
and  how  nearly  ahke  were  the  names  of  the  two  church- 
men,  they   might   be   more   willing   to   adopt   a   system 
which  was  christened  after  a  Pope.     It  was  characteris- 
tic of  the  time  that  Metochites  took  as  much  interest 
in  astrology  as  he  did  in  astronomy.     Philology  was  an- 
other subject  that  engrossed  him.     He   made  six   hun- 
dred years  ago  an  attempt  which  is  being  made  in  Ath- 
ens to-day  to  restore  the  Romaic  Greek  language  to  its 
Attic   purity,    for   he  was    a   devoted    student   of   Aris- 
totle and  particularly  of  Plato.     With  all  these  scholarly 
tastes,  however,  he  was  a  man  of  affairs.     By  his  suc- 
cess as  an  ambassador  and  in  other  public  posts,  he  rose 
from  one  responsibility  to  another  till  he  became  Grand 
Logothetes  —  or  as  we  might  say,  prime  minister.     He 
was  far-sighted  enough  to  see,  a  hundred  and  fifty  years 
before  the  hnal  catastrophe,  the  imminence  of  the  Turk- 
ish peril     Among  his  writings,  too,  are  some  curiously 
modern    reflections    on    absolute    monarchy.     Neverthe- 
less he  became  involved,  through  his  fidelity  to  his  im- 
perial master,   in  the  long  quarrel  between  Andronicus 
II  and  his  erandson  Andronicus  III.     When  the  latter 


100       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

usurped  the  throne  in  1328  Metochites  was  stripped  of 
his  honours  and  his  wealth,  his  palace  —  near  that  of 
Blacherne  —  was  razed  to  the  ground,  and  he  was  sent 
into  exile.  Allowed  to  return  after  tw^o  years,  he  re- 
tired to  his  own  monastery,  where  he  lived  onl}^  two 
years  more. 

If  this  great  man  was  unhappy  in  his  death,  he  was 
happier  than  perhaps  he  knew  in  the  monument  that 
has  kept  alive  the  memory  of  his  humanism  and  of 
his  loyalty.  The  grace  of  its  proportions,  the  beauty 
of  its  marbles,  the  delicacy  of  its  sculpture,  everything 
about  it  sets  the  church  apart  as  a  Httle  masterpiece. 
Kahrieh  Jami  is  also  notable  for  the  faded  frescoes  in  its 
side  chapel,  where  a  portrait  of  Andronicus  II  looks 
ghostlike  out  of  a  niche,  for  in  no  other  Constantinople 
church  does  there  remain  any  visible  trace  of  painting  — 
or  any  such  tomb  as  the  one,  in  the  same  chapel,  of  the 
Grand  Constable  Michael  Tornikes,  with  a  long  Greek  epi- 
taph. What  completes,  however,  this  picture  of  the  last 
days  of  Byzantium,  what  gives  Kahrieh  Jami  its  unique 
interest,  are  its  mosaics.  In  the  nave  they  are  still  hid- 
den, waiting  as  if  for  the  day  of  release  from  a  strange 
enchantment.  But  in  the  narthexes  Mohammedan  sensi- 
bilities have  for  once  spared  two  long  series  of  scenes  from 
the  hfe  of  Christ  and  the  legend  of  Mary.  And  they 
make  one  ask  oneself  again  why  so  noble  an  art  is  practi- 
cally lost.  For  richness  of  effect  no  other  form  of  sur- 
face ornament  can  equal  it.  The  modern  art  of  painting 
is,  of  course,  far  more  expressive;  for  that  very  reason 
it  is  less  suited  to  mural  decoration.  Mosaic  can  carry 
farther,  and  for  great  spaces  or  distances  it  is  equally 
expressive  —  witness  the  tragic  Christ  of  Cefalu.  More- 
over, it  has  decorative  effects  of  its  own  which  painting 
never   can    rival,    while    its    greater    brilliancy    is    better 


Photograph  by  Seb;ih  and  JoaiUier,  Constantinople 

]\Iosaic  from  Kahrich  Jami:  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents 


Photograph  by    .  Ilorence.     Reproduced  by  i"  ' 

Giotto's  fresco  of  the  Massacre  of  the  Innocents,  in  the  Arena 
chapel,  Padua 


OLD  CONSTANTINOPLE  103 

suited  to  most  architectural  settings.  And  it  is  infinitely 
more  durable.  Of  the  great  frescoes  of  the  Renaissance 
some  are  already  gone,  while  others  crack  and  darken 
3^ear  by  year.  The  art  of  Michelangelo  and  Leonardo 
will  one  day  be  as  mythic  as  that  of  Zeuxis  and  Apelles, 
except  for  the  shadow  of  it  saved  by  our  modern  proc- 
esses of  reproduction.  But  the  mosaics  of  Venice,  Ra- 
venna, and  Sicily,  of  Salonica  and  Constantinople,  will 
last  as  long  as  the  buildings  that  contain  them. 

In  this  very  matter  of  the  relation  between  fresco 
and  mosaic,  Kahrieh  Jami  happens  to  play  a  particular 
part.  The  mosaics  are  disposed  with  such  a  mastery 
of  composition,  there  is  so  wide  a  range  of  colour  in  them, 
in  life  and  naturalness  and  sometimes  in  choice  of  sub- 
ject they  differ  so  greatly  from  better-known  mosaics  of 
an  earlier  period,  that  some  critics  have  seen  in  them 
a  fine  Italian  hand  —  and  one  no  less  fine  than  that  of 
Giotto,  who  painted  the  Arena  chapel  in  Padua  about 
the  time  Metochites  restored  this  church.  Not  that 
any  one  has  gone  so  far  as  to  ascribe  the  Byzantine 
series  to  Giotto  himself,  but  that  the  quahties  I  have 
mentioned,  together  with  certain  similarities  of  detail, 
have  been  ascribed  to  the  revolutionary  influence  of  the 
Itahan  series.  It  is  not  yet  unanimously  decided  whether 
the  mosaics  all  belong  to  the  same  period.  Perhaps  we 
must  wait  for  the  evidence  of  those  still  hidden  in  the 
nave  to  know  whether  any  of  them  belong  to  the  time 
of  Mary  Ducas.  The  Russian  archaeologist  Schmitt,  who 
has  written  the  completest  monograph  on  the  subject  — 
and  who  picked  enough  plaster  away  in  the  nave  to  as- 
sure himself  that  mosaics  were  still  there  —  assigns  the 
work  to  the  period  of  Metochites,  but  surmises  it  to 
have  been  inspired  by  some  Syrian  original  of  the  ninth 
century.     Diehl,   the  eminent   French   Byzantinist,   sees 


104       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 


rather  in  Kahrieh  Jami  a  last  revival  of  Byzantine  art, 
contemporaneous  with  but  not  derived  from  the  early 
Tuscan  school  of  painting.  When  these  savants  ex- 
pressed their  opinions  neither  of  them  was  aware  of  an 
odd  httle  fact  quite  lately  estabhshed  not  by  a  Byzan- 
tinist  but  by  a  layman  who  was  looking  at  some  photo- 
graphs of  the  mosaics. 
In  the  photograph  of 
the  central  bay  of  the 
outer  narthex  he  dis- 
covered, above  a  two- 
handled  jar  which  a 
servant  carries  on  his 
shoulder  to  the  mar- 
riage at  Cana,  a  date  in 
Arabic  numerals  —  but 
real  Arabic  numerals, 
not  the  ones  we  have 
made  out  of  them.  This 
date  is  6811,  which  in 
the  Byzantine  system  of 
chronography  is  equiv- 
alent to  1303.  The  find 
was  interesting  in  itself 
as  being  the  earhest  use  yet  recorded  —  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken —  of  Arabic  numerals  on  a  public  monument.  It 
has  a  further  interest  in  pointing  to  the  Syrian  affilia- 
tions of  the  monastery  and  in  lending  colour,  however 
shght,  to  Schmitt's  theory  with  regard  to  the  Syrian 
origin  of  certain  of  the  mosaics.  But  it  tends  more  defi- 
nitely to  prove  that  the  mosaics  were  executed  before 
Giotto's  frescoes  in  Padua,  which  could  hardly  have  been 
begun  and  much  less  completed  by  1303. 

I   do  not  know  whether  any  one,  in   discussing  this 


Photograph  by  Sebah  and  Joaillier,  Constantinople 

Mosaic  from  Kahrieh  Jami:  the 
Marriage  at  Cana 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  105 

matter,  has  drawn  attention  to  so  small  a  detail  as  a  cer- 
tain checkered  border  of  disconcerting  similarity  in  the 
two  series.  Therefore  I,  who  am  nothing  of  an  expert  in 
these  questions,  will  pass  it  by.  But  I  cannot  pass 
Kahrieh  Jami  by  without  pointing  out,  from  the  depth 
of  my  inexpertness,  how  unlikely  it  was  that  Theodore 
Metochites,  the  lover  of  all  things  Greek,  should  send,  at 
the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century,  for  one  of  those  hated 
Latins  who  had  just  been  driven  out  of  Constantinople, 
to  decorate  the  church  they  had  left  a  ruin.  Even  if  it 
should  be  proved  that  the  designer  of  these  mosaics  was 
an  Italian,  however,  or  that  he  had  watched  Giotto  in 
the  house  of  the  Scrovegni,  it  would  not  alter  the  fact 
that  the  trend  of  influence  w^as  all  the  other  way.  Con- 
stantinople had  for  the  young  Italian  cities,  down  to  1453, 
an  immense  artistic  prestige.  Indeed,  the  church  of  the 
Salute,  recalling  as  it  does  the  lines  of  a  mosque,  seems 
to  suggest  that  in  Venice,  at  least,  this  influence  did  not 
cease  with  the  coming  of  the  Turks.  Greek  masters  of 
mosaic  were  invited  time  and  again  to  decorate  Italian 
interiors.  The  primitive  Italian  painters  drew  Byzantine 
madonnas  on  gold  backgrounds  exactly  like  mosaicists 
working  in  a  new  —  and  possibly  a  cheaper  —  medium. 
Giotto  himself,  like  his  master  Cimabue,  made  pictures 
with  little  cubes  of  coloured  glass.  I  will  not  say  that  the 
Italians,  in  turn,  never  influenced  the  Greeks;  the  very 
name  of  Constantinople  is  proof  to  the  contrary.  Least 
of  all  will  I  say  that  Italy  had  only  one  source  of  inspira- 
tion. But  I  will  say  that  there  is  room  to  revise  our  ideas 
of  the  Renaissance.  Most  that  has  been  written  about 
the  Renaissance  has  been  written  without  any  first-hand 
knowledge  of  Byzantine  art,  and  in  the  romantic 
view  that  the  Renaissance  was  a  miraculous  reflowering 
of  the  classic  spirit  after  a  sleep  of  centuries.     Need  it 


io6      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

dim  the  glamour  of  the  Renaissance  to  look  upon  it  as 
something  less  of  an  immaculate  conception?  If  the 
Renaissance  was  a  reflowering,  it  was  of  a  plant  that  had 
silently  grown  in  another  soil.  And  Kahrieh  Jami  is  the 
last  flower  of  that  plant  in  its  own  Byzantine  ground. 

From  Kahrieh  Jami  to  the  walls  is  but  a  step  —  in 
more  ways  than  one.  They  are  the  part  of  old  Constan- 
tinople that  is  most  visible.  They  still  form  an  almost 
complete  circuit,  of  some  thirteen  miles,  around  StambouL 
Where  the  circuit  is  most  broken  is  along  the  Golden 
Horn,  though  even  there  large  sections  of  the  wall  re- 
main. On  the  land  side  only  one  breach  has  been  made, 
for  the  railway  that  leads  to  Bulgaria  and  the  west. 
Whether  other  breaches  will  follow  remains  to  be  seen. 
For  the  walls  lie  under  sentence  of  death.  In  1909 
a  bill  passed  ParHament  and  was  signed  by  the  Sultan, 
providing  that  the  walls  be  pulled  down  and  their 
materials  sold  for  the  pubhc  profit.  In  spite  of  the  dis- 
dain under  which  Constantinople  generally  hes,  I  am 
happy  to  say  that  so  loud  a  protest  immediately  rose  to 
heaven  as  to  dissuade  the  astonished  Young  Turks  from 
carrying  out  their  law.  I  can  quite  understand  that  that 
old  rampart  of  Christendom  represents  to  them  merely 
so  much  brick  and  stone  in  a  very  bad  state  of  preserva- 
tion, which  they  began  to  demohsh  five  hundred  years 
ago  and  since  have  left  to  encumber  the  earth.  More- 
over, they  have  been  to  Vienna,  they  have  been  to  Paris, 
they  have  been  to  all  sorts  of  places.  They  have  seen 
fine  boulevards  laid  out  on  the  site  of  ancient  fortifica- 
tions, and  they  ask  themselves:  If  the  Europeans  do  it, 
why  do  they  make  such  a  fuss  when  we  propose  to?  I 
would  rather  like  to  tcll  them,  for  Turkey  is  not  the  only 
place  where  Young  Turks  grow.     However,  as  none  of 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE  107 

them  will  ever  read  this  obscure  page  I  will  content  my- 
self with  saying  that  I  shall  never  object  to  the  sea-walls 
being  pulled  down  —  provided  the  railway  be  made  to 
subside  into  a  tunnel,  and  the  gateways  along  the  Golden 
Horn  be  preserved  like  those  of  Florence  to  ornament  the 
city.  As  for  the  land  walls,  they  are  too  great  an  asset 
ever  to  be  disposed  of  except  under  direst  stress  of  over- 
population, which  now  seems  remote  enough.  Only  in 
that  case,  dear  Young  Turks,  you  will  also  have  to  cut 
down  your  cemetery  cypresses  outside  the  walls.  And 
then  will  double  stars  be  scratched  out  of  many  trav- 
ellers' handbooks! 

Constantinople  has  long  been  famous  for  her  walls. 
About  the  rocky  headland  of  Seraglio  Point,  which  was 
the  acropolis  of  the  first  settlers  from  Megara,  may  still 
lie  some  blocks  of  the  fortifications  built  by  Pausanias 
after  the  battle  of  Platsea,  when  he  drove  the  Persians 
out  of  Byzantium  and  made  it  one  of  the  strongest  cities 
of  the  ancient  world.  This  wall  lasted  until  it  was  de- 
stroyed in  196  by  the  emperor  Septimius  Severus,  in 
revenge  upon  the  Byzantines  for  having  taken  the  part 
of  his  rival  Pescennius  Niger.  He  also  changed  the  name 
of  the  city  to  Antonina  and  made  it  subject  to  Perinthos, 
now  a  sleepy  hamlet  of  the  Marmora  called  Eregli.  But 
he  later  refortified  the  town,  on  the  advice  of  his  son 
Caracalla.  The  Byzantium  thus  enlarged  extended  into 
the  Golden  Horn  not  quite  so  far  as  Yeni  Jami,  and  into 
the  Marmora  no  farther  than  the  lighthouse  of  Seraglio 
Point.  When  in  328  Constantine  the  Great  decided  to 
turn  Byzantium  into  New  Rome,  he  carried  the  walls  to 
the  vicinity  of  the  Oun  Kapan-Azap  Kapou  bridge  on 
one  side,  and  on  the  other  to  the  gate  of  Daoud  Pasha, 
in  the  Psamatia  quarter.  He  set  the  forum  bearing  his 
name,  marked  to-day  by  the  so-called  Burnt  Column,  at 


io8      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

the  place  where  the  city  gate  of  Septimius  Severus  opened 
on  to  the  Via  Egnatia.  His  own  city  gate  opened  on  to 
that  road  at  the  point  now  called  Issa  Kapoussou  —  the 
Gate  of  Jesus.  The  charming  little  mosque  of  Ramazan 
Effendi  stands  on  the  street  which  follows  the  hne  of  the 
wall  for  a  short  distance  to  the  north.  Of  the  wall  itself 
nothing  that  can  be  identified  as  such  remains  visible. 
It  was  the  emperor  Theodosius  II,  he  who  first  brought 
to  Constantinople  those  much-travelled  bronze  horses 
long  since  naturalised  in  Venice,  who  gave  the  walls  their 
present  extension.  The  inner  of  the  two  hues  of  land 
walls  he  built  in  413,  the  outer  wall  and  the  moat  being 
added  while  Attila  was  ravaging  the  Balkan  peninsula  in 
447.  Two  inscriptions,  one  in  Latin  and  one  in  Greek, 
still  record  this  achievement  over  the  gate  now  called 
after  the  Yeni  Mevlevi  Haneh.  Later  emperors  did  no 
more  than  repair  the  work  of  Theodosius,  except  at  that 
northwestern  corner  of  the  city  where  the  growing  im- 
portance of  the  Blacherne  quarter  necessitated  fresh  en- 
largements or  defences.  Since  the  Turkish  conquest 
more  or  less  extensive  repairs  have  been  carried  out  by 
Mehmed  II,  Mourad  IV  (1635),  and  Ahmed  III  (1721). 
An  infinite  variety  of  interest  attaches  to  these  walls 
—  from  the  gates  that  pierce  them,  the  towers  that  flank 
them  at  intervals  of  some  sixty  feet,  the  devices,  mono- 
grams, and  inscriptions  of  every  period  the}'  contain, 
the  associations  they  have  had  so  much  time  to  accumu- 
late. Two  points,  however,  have  a  special  interest  for 
expert  and  layman  ahke.  I  have  already  spoken  of 
Tckfour  Scrai,  where  the  Thcodosian  wall  merges  into 
later  additions,  and  of  the  imperial  quarter  of  Blacherne. 
I  have  yet  to  speak,  even  more  cursorily,  of  the  Golden 
Gate.  This  great  triple  portal  and  the  marble  towers 
flanking  it  existed  before  the  walls  themselves,   having 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE 


109 


been  built  as  a  triumphal  arch  over  the  Egnatian  Way  by 
Theodosius  the  Great,  after  his  defeat  of  Maximus  in 
388.     The  statue  of  the  emperor  and  the  other  sculptures 


The  Golden  Gate 


that  adorned  it  once  are  gone,  but  you  can  still  see  over 
the  central  arch  the  rivet  holes  of  the  original  inscription: 

HAEC    LOCA    THEVDOSIVS    DECORAT    POST    FATA    TYRAXXI 
AVREA    S.-ECLO    GERIT    Q\  I    PORTAM    CONSTRVIT    A\RO 

When  the  younger  Theodosius  extended  the  walls  he 
made  the  Golden  Gate  a  part  of  them,  but  kept  it  as  the 
state  entrance  to  the  city.  Distinguished  guests  were 
met  there  —  ambassadors,  visiting  princes,  at  least  one 
Pope.  Holy  processions  burned  their  incense  under  that 
archway.  Through  it  passed  emperors  in  splendour 
when  they  came  to  the  purple,  or  when  they  returned 


no      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

victorious  from  war.  No  gateway  in  Europe  can  have 
seen  so  much  of  the  pomp  and  glory  of  the  world.  Now 
the  arches  are  blind,  save  for  one  small  postern  in  the 
centre,  and  that  was  nearly  choked  by  an  earthquake  in 
191 2.  One  Roman  eagle  still  looks  down  from  a  high 
marble  cornice  upon  the  moat,  empty  of  all  but  garden 
green,  and  upon  a  colony  of  Turkish  gravestones  that 
stand  among  cypresses  where  the  Via  Egnatia  started 
away  for  the  Adriatic. 

On  the  other  side  hes  a  silent  enclosure  whose  own 
day  has  come  and  gone  since  the  last  emperor  passed 
through  the  Golden  Gate.  This  is  the  fortress  of  the 
Seven  Towers  —  three  of  which  were  built  by  the  Turk- 
ish conqueror  and  connected  by  curtains  with  the  city 
wall.  In  the  towers  are  passages  and  cells  as  black  as 
the  subterranean  maze  of  Blacherne,  and  they  were  used 
for  the  same  purpose.  Many  are  the  stories  of  captivity 
in  this  high-walled  place  that  have  been  told  and  re- 
main to  be  told.  One  of  them  is  briefly  legible,  in  Latin, 
in  a  stone  of  the  southeast  tower,  where  it  was  cut  by 
a  Venetian  in  the  seventeenth  century.  It  used  even 
to  be  the  fashion  to  clap  an  ambassador  into  prison  there 
when  war  broke  out  between  his  country  and  the  Porte. 
Turkish  state  prisoners,  of  course,  perished  there  with- 
out number.  And  one  sultan,  Osman  II,  when  he  was 
no  more  than  eighteen,  was  barbarously  put  to  death 
there  in  1622.  And  all  that  blood  and  bitterness,  which 
was  so  desperately  the  whole  of  reality  for  so  many 
breathing  men,  is  now  but  a  pleasant  quickening  of  ro- 
mance for  the  visitor  who  follows  a  lantern  through  the 
darkness  of  the  towers  or  who  explores  the  battlements  of 
the  wall,  grassy  and  anemone-grown  in  the  spring,  from 
which  a  magnificent  view  stretches  of  the  sea  and  the  city 
and  the  long  hne  of  ruined  turrets  marching  up  the  hill. 


OLD   CONSTANTINOPLE 


1 1 1 


If  every  ended  drama  of  human  greatness  must  come 
at  last  to  a  view,  the  road  around  the  land  walls  of 
Constantinople  can  do  more  for  the  man  who  walks  it 
than  any  such  road  I  know.  Other  cities  have  w^alls, 
it  is  true.  Other  walls  have  moats.  Some  of  their 
moats  contain  water,  too,  while  this  moat  contains  only 


Outside  the  land  walls 

water-wheels  and  vegetable-gardens.  And  how  much 
more  greenly  do  the  vegetables  grow,  I  wonder,  because 
of  all  the  dead  men  that  have  fallen  under  the  ram- 
parts? Other  ramparts  wear  as  picturesque  a  verdure, 
and  blossoming  fruit-trees  have  the  same  trick  of  setting 
them  off  in  the  spring.  And  cypresses  are  no  monopoly 
of  Constantinople.  But  no  such  army  of  cypresses  faces 
other  walls,  from  such  a  camp  of  strange  grey  stones. 
Nor  in  any  Eternal  City  does  water  play  so  magical  a 


112      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

part  of  background.  The  landscape  is  most  dramatically 
accidented  where  you  look  past  the  high  terraces  of  Bla- 
cherne  toward  the  landlocked  brightness  of  the  Golden 
Horn.  A  view  is  also  to  be  admired  down  the  valley  of 
the  Lycus,  of  the  whole  city  stretching  to  the  sea.  But 
the  noblest  perspective  is  the  simpler  one  where  the 
road,  avenue-like  between  the  moat  and  the  cypresses, 
dips  and  rises  and  dips  again  toward  the  Golden  Gate 


a 

1 

^^^^^^^^Km^^^^&'-'i  '^gdHH 

.   i  .  -^^MmJM| 

El'-  ■          ']^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^Bs"  ""~ 

da 

A  last  marble  tower  stands  superbly  out  of  the  blue 

and  the  Marmora,  till  a  last  marble  tower  stands  superbly 
out  of  the  blue.  The  contrast  of  sea  and  cypresses  and 
tawny  stones,  always  perfect,  here  takes  an  insensible 
colour,  I  suppose,  from  the  thought  of  the  sentinels  who 
called  from  tower  to  tower  in  old  Byzantine  nights;  and 
of  all  the  horsemen  and  banners  that  have  ridden  against 
those  walls;  and  of  what  they  did  for  the  other  end  of 
Europe  —  the  walls  —  till  civilisation  was  safely  planted 
there;  and  of  something  yet  more  intangible,  that  is 
deepest  and  strangest  in  human  fate. 


IV 

THE  GOLDEN   HORN 

Why  the  Golden  Horn  should  be  called  the  Golden 
Horn  is  a  question  that  has  agitated  many  serious  pens. 
A  less  serious  pen  is  therefore  free  to  declare  itself  for 
an  explanation  that  does  not  explain.  The  Greeks  al- 
ways seem  to  have  been  fond  of  the  word  gold.  In 
their  language  as  in  ours  it  has  a  pleasant  sound,  and 
it  has  pleasant  implications  — -  the  philosophers  to  the 
contrary.  At  any  rate,  the  Greeks  of  Constantinople 
made  much  use  of  it.  The  state  entrance  to  the  city 
was  through  the  Golden  Gate.  One  of  the  most  fa- 
mous parts  of  the  Great  Palace  was  the  Golden  Hall.  The 
suburb  of  Scutari  was  anciently  known  as  the  City  of 
Gold.  There  were  in  different  parts  of  the  town  a  Golden 
Milestone,  a  Golden  Arch,  a  Golden  Roof,  and  a  Golden 
Stream,  while  the  Greek  church  abounds  in  golden  springs 
and  golden  caves.  I  have  even  known  a  Greek  serving- 
maid  to  address  her  mistress  in  moments  of  expansion 
as  "my  golden  one"!  The  Golden  Horn,  then,  was  prob- 
ably named  so  for  even  less  reason  than  the  orange 
valley  behind  Palermo  —  because  some  one  a  long  time 
ago  hked  the  sound  of  the  words. 

I  always  wish  I  might  have  seen  the  Golden  Horn 
before  it  was  bridged.  It  must  have  made,  opening  out 
of  the  lake-like  basin  where  the  Bosphorus  and  the  Mar- 
mora come  together,  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  pieces 

113 


114       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

of  geography  in  nature.  However,  if  the  bridges  cut  up 
that  long  curving  perspective  they  add  something  of 
their  own  to  it,  and  whoever  stands  upon  them  must 
acknowledge  that  the  Golden  Horn  is  still  a  satisfactory 
piece  of  geography.  Consider,  for  instance,  its  colour, 
which  may  not  be  quite  so  bkie  as  Naples  but  which 
is  far  from  the  muddiness  of  New  York.  Consider  also 
the  shores  that  overlook  it  —  how  excellently  their 
height  is  proportioned  to  its  breadth,  how  superlatively 
the  southern  one,  in  particular,  is  set  off  by  the  pinnacles 
of  Seraglio  Point  and  the  mosques  that  ride  the  higher 
crests.  Yet  do  not  fail  to  consider  that  more  intimate 
element  of  its  character,  its  busy  water  life.  I  say  so 
with  rather  a  pointed  air,  as  if,  having  already  found 
something  to  write  about  one  bank  of  the  Golden  Horn, 
I  intended  to  go  on  and  give  a  compendious  account  of 
the  Golden  Horn  itself,  to  the  last  fish  that  swims  in  it. 
Alas,  no!  I  have  admired  the  Golden  Horn  from  every 
conceivable  point  of  view,  I  have  navigated  it  in  every 
conceivable  sense,  I  have  idled  much  about  its  banks 
and  bridges,  I  have  even  ventured  to  swim  in  its  some- 
what doubtful  waters  —  only  to  learn  how  lamentable 
is  my  ignorance  in  their  regard.  My  one  consolation  is 
that  I  never  encountered  any  other  man  who  knew  very 
much  about  the  Golden  Horn  —  save  casual  watermen 
and  sea-captains  who  have  much  better  things  to  do 
than  to  write  books,  or  read  them. 

All  harbours  bring  the  ends  of  the  earth  together,  and 
the  part  of  the  Golden  Horn  outside  the  bridges  looks  a 
little  Hke  them  alL  Flags  of  every  country  fly  there, 
beside  stone  quays  or  moored  to  red  buoys  in  the  open. 
Trim  hners  and  workaday  tramps  bring  in  a  httle 
atmosphere  from  the  Black  Sea,  the  Mediterranean,  the 
far-off  Atlantic.     Tugs  puff  busily  about.     Cranes  take 


/f 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN  117 

up  the  white  man's  burden  as  naturally  as  in  any  other 
port.  Every  harbour  brings  the  ends  of  the  earth  to- 
gether in  its  own  way,  however,  and  so  does  this.  If  you 
happen  to  tie  up  at  a  buoy  instead  of  alongside,  you  will 
soon  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  gentleman  in  a  rowboat 
very  much  Kke  other  row-boats,  fringed  with  bumpers. 
This  gentleman  will  probably  be  a  Greek,  though  he  may 
be  anything,  and  he  will  demand  all  the  gold  of  Ophir  to 
set  you  ashore,  getting  not  a  little  of  it  in  the  end.  If 
you  prefer  to  stay  on  board  you  will  very  likely  make  the 
acquaintance  of  another  gentleman  in  a  trimmer  boat, 
painted  blue  and  green,  pointed  at  both  ends  and  pro- 
vided at  each  with  an  upstanding  post  which  is  conve- 
nient for  tow-hnes.  This  is  a  bumboat,  and  the  Maltese 
in  command  will  furnish  you  ahnost  anything  in  the  way 
of  supplies  —  for  a  consideration.  Should  you  have  a 
cargo  to  land,  you  must  deal  with  a  yet  more  redoubt- 
able race  of  beings.  These  men  are  Laz,  a  race  of  dare- 
devils from  the  region  of  Trebizond,  which  was  the  an- 
cient Colchis.  You  may  know  them  by  their  tight  black 
clothes,  by  the  sharpness  of  their  shoes,  ending  in  a 
leather  thong,  and  by  the  pointed  hood  of  two  long  flaps 
which  they  wear  knotted  about  their  heads  like  a  turban. 
Some  of  them  are  Mohammedans  and  some  of  them  are 
Christians,  but  all  of  them  speak  a  mysterious  language 
of  their  own.  Two  sorts  of  boats  are  peculiar  to  these 
brothers  of  Medea:  the  mahona,  a  single-masted  scow 
with  a  raking  stem,  and  a  smaller  snub-nosed  salapouri. 
I  do  not  include  the  mad  little  open  taka,  broad  of  beam, 
high  of  board,  and  gay  with  painted  stars,  in  which  they 
are  not  afraid  to  run  down  the  coast  from  their  own 
country.  Woe  be  you  if  you  happen  to  displease  a 
mahonaji,  for  he  belongs  to  a  guild  that  holds  the  com- 
merce of  the  port  in  no  gentle  hand.     He  will  neither 


ii8       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

discharge  your  goods  nor  let  any  one  else,  if  so  it  seem 
good  to  him,  and  not  even  the  government  can  make  him 
change  his  mind. 

The  lightermen  are  by  no  means  the  only  guild  in 
the  Golden  Horn,  though  I  suppose  they  are  doomed  to 


Lighters 


follow  the  way  of  the  others.  These  old  organisations 
still  persist  among  the  different  kinds  of  watermen. 
Each  guild  has  its  own  station,  Hke  the  traghetti  of  Venice, 
each  has  a  headquarters,  or  /0717a  —  which  is  a  corruption 
of  the  Itahan  loggia  —  and  each  a  series  of  officers  headed 
by  a  kehaya.  This  dignitary  takes  no  actual  part,  as  a 
usual  thing,  in  the  work  of  the  guild,  but  earns  the  lion's 
share  of  the  profits,  and  in  return  therefor  protects  the 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN 


119 


guild  in  high  quarters.  Under  the  old  regime  the  kehayas 
of  the  principal  guilds  were  members  of  the  palace  cama- 
rilla. In  older  times  still  the  guilds  were  required  to 
contribute  heavily  to  the  expenses  of  war  in  recognition 
of  their  privileges,  and  even  now  the  lightermen  and  the 


Sandals 

custom-house  porters  are  obliged  to  give  the  War  Depart- 
ment so  many  men  on  so  many  days  a  week. 

The  outer  bridge  draws  a  sharp  boundary-line  be- 
tween the  cosmopolitan  part  of  the  harbour  and  the  part 
where  local  colour  is  the  rule.  For  any  one  who  takes  an 
interest  in  boats  and  those  who  have  to  do  with  them, 
the  bit  of  water  between  Yeni  Jami  and  the  Arsenal  is 
one  of  the  happiest  hunting-grounds  in  the  world.     This 


120      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

is  the  true  home  of  the  water  guilds.  The  lightermen's 
headquarters  are  here,  and  their  four  anchored  flotillas 
are  a  distinct  note  of  the  scene.  Here  also  are  the  head- 
quarters of  many  lesser  watermen  such  as  row  you  across 
the  Horn  for  a  piastre  —  or  even  less  if  you  do  not  insist 
on  a  boat  to  yourself.  The  smartest  ones  have  their 
station  just  inside  the  bridge.  Most  of  their  boats  are 
trim  skiff's,  gay  with  carving  and  gilding,  and  fitted  out 
with  velvet  cushions  and  summer  awnings.  This  skiff", 
caHed  a  sandal,  has  almost  ousted  the  true  boat  of  the 
Golden  Horn,  which  is  the  legendary  caique.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  it,  because  I  do  not  like  to  see  the  Turks  change 
their  own  customs  for  European  ones,  but  truth  com- 
pels me  to  add  that  I  have  lolled  too  much  in  gondolas 
to  be  an  unbridled  admirer  of  the  caique.  A  gondola  is 
infinitely  more  roomy  and  comfortable,  and  it  has  the 
great  advantage  of  not  forcing  you  to  sit  nose  to  nose 
with  a  perspiring  boatman.  The  caique  is  swifter  and 
easier  in  its  gait,  however,  and,  when  long  enough  for  two 
or  three  pairs  of  oars,  not  even  a  gondola  is  more  gracefuL 
Caiques  still  remain  at  the  ferries  higher  up  the  Golden 
Horn — and  grubby  enough  most  of  them  are,  for  they 
have  fallen  greatly  in  the  world  since  bridges  were  built 
and  steamers  began  to  ply. 

If  I  were  really  to  open  the  chapter  of  caiques  I  would 
never  come  to  the  end.  The  word  is  a  generic  one,  and 
applies  to  an  infinity  of  boats,  from  the  stubby  little 
single-oared  piadeh  ka'ik  of  the  Golden  Horn  ferries  to 
the  big  pazar  ka'ik.  You  may  admire  this  boat,  and  the 
carving  that  decorates  it,  and  its  magnificent  incurving 
beak,  and  the  tassel  that  should  dangle  therefrom,  at  the 
wharves  of  Yemish,  off"  the  Dried  Fruit  Bazaar.  They 
all  come,  early  in  the  morning,  from  diff"crcnt  villages  on 
the  Bosphorus,  rowed  by  men  who  stand  to  the  heavy- 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN  121 

handled  oars  and  drop  ^^  ith  them  to  their  backs.  There 
are  also  caiques  with  sails,  undecked  boats  built  on  the 
lines  of  a  fishing  caique,  that  bring  fruit  and  vegetables 
from  the  villages  of  the  Marmora.  They  are  prettier  to 
look  at  than  to  navigate,  for  they  have  no  keel  and  their 
mainsail  is  a  balloon,  to  be  pulled  from  one  side  to  the 


Caiques 

Other  of  a  fearsome  stick,  boom  and  gaff  in  one,  that 
spears  the  heavens.  The  human  part  of  the  caique  has 
its  picturesque  points  as  well.  The  sail  caiques  are  navi- 
gated more  often  than  not  by  Greeks.  As  with  fishing 
caiques,  it  depends  on  the  village  they  come  from.  The 
men  of  the  bazaar  caiques  are  all  Turks,  and  none  of  them 
ever  saw  a  boat  till  he  took  ship  for  Constantinople. 
What  is  odder  yet,  the  same  is  true  of  most  of  the  ordinary 
boatmen  of  the  inner  Horn.      Manv  of  them  are  Laz; 


122      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

many  others  are  Turkish  peasants  from  the  hinterland 
of  the  Black  Sea.  Those  from  one  village  or  district 
enter  one  guild,  serving  a  long  apprenticeship  before  they 
can  be  masters  of  their  own  craft. 

Another  boundless  chapter  is  that  of  the  larger  ves- 
sels that  frequent  the  inner  Horn.     You  get  an  inkhng 


Sailing  caiques 


of  how  boundless  it  is  when  you  stand  on  the  bridge  in 
front  of  Yeni  Jami  and  look  at  the  shipping  that  crowds 
along  the  shores.  A  perfect  museum  of  navigation  is 
there.  Modern  steamers  lie  beside  the  caravels  of  Co- 
lumbus —  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Greeks  still  call  them 
karavia  —  and  motor-boats  make  way  for  vessels  whose 
build  and  rig  can  have  changed  very  little  since  the  days 
of  the  Argo.  One  notable  armada  is  anchored  off  Odoun 
Kapan,  the  wood  market,  under  the  mosque  of  Siile'iman, 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN 


123 


and  the  most  notable  part  of  it,  for  me,  is  always  made 
up  of  certain  ships  called  gagali  because  their  bows  have 
the  curve  of  a  parrot's  beak.  They  have  two  eyes,  like 
the  bragozzi  of  the  Adriatic,  and  their  tremendously 
tilted  bowsprit  starts  from  a  little  one  side  of  the  bow. 


Galleons  that  might  have  sailed  out  of  the  ^Middle  Ages  anchor  there  now 


But  what  is  most  decorative  about  them  is  the  stern,  a 
high  triangle  adorned  with  much  painting  and  carving 
and  an  open  balustrade  along  the  top,  from  either  end 
of  which  a  beam  juts  out  horizontally  over  the  sea  in  the 
hne  of  the  hull. 

One  or  two  minor  fleets,  made  up  of  small  Greek 
alamdnas  or  Turkish  chektirinehs,  are  usually  tied  up  off 
other  Stamboul  markets.     But  the  most  imposing  one  of 


124      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

all  hides  the  Galata  shore.  It  begins,  distinguishably 
enough,  just  beyond  the  landing-stage  of  the  skifFs  I 
have  mentioned,  with  a  squadron  of  hghters  and  the 
raft  that  makes  a  bobbing  street  between  certain  tubby- 
looking  saihng  vessels.  Bombarda  is  the  name  of  their 
class,  or  vouvartha,  if  you  prefer,  and  they  bring  oil  and 
wine  from  as  far  away  as  the  Greek  islands.  Beyond 
them  rises  so  intricate  a  maze  of  rigging  as  would  have 
baffled  even  an  old  German  engraver.  I  wonder  a  man 
can  ever  fmd  his  own  ship  there,  so  closely  does  one  elbow 
another,  nor  in  any  single  row,  all  the  way  to  Azap 
Kapou.  This  is  w^here  the  Genoese  had  shipyards  of 
old,  and  galleons  that  might  have  sailed  out  of  the 
Middle  Ages  anchor  there  now  for  repairs,  with  craft 
that  look  a  httle  more  like  Western  seas.  I  despair  of 
ever  really  knowing  anything  about  them  — ■  of  ever  being 
able  to  tell  at  first  shot  a  maouna  of  the  Black  Sea  from 
a  maouna  of  the  White  Sea,  or  a  saika  from  either,  or  to 
discover  that  Flying  Dutchman  of  a  craft  of  whose  exis- 
tence I  have  been  credibly  informed,  namely,  the  Ship  of 
the  Prophet  Noah. 

The  Black  and  the  White  Sea  play  a  great  part  in 
these  matters,  the  White  Sea  meaning  the  Marmora 
and  the  Mediterranean.  In  the  days  when  guilds  were 
more  important  than  they  are  now  the  Captains  of  the 
White  Sea  were  the  navy,  while  the  Captains  of  the 
Black  Sea  were  the  merchant  marine,  and  that  must 
have  something  to  do  with  the  fact  that  the  watermen 
of  the  Golden  Horn  still  come  from  the  littoral  of  the 
Black  Sea.  The  Prophet  Noah  also,  whom  I  have  just 
mentioned,  is  Kkewise  involved  in  matters  maritime, 
as  being  the  father  of  ship-builders.  The  archangel 
Gabriel,  according  to  Mohammedan  tradition,  taught 
him  how  to  model  the  keel  of  the  ark  from  the  breast- 


^,    •• .  •  •  ■.  •/    ^    •'  «♦  >       / 


by  court.:-y  ...f  the  Jiihlietluquc  X.itionuk-,  Paris 


The  Seven  Sleepers  of  Ephesus 

From  a  Persian  miniature 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN  127 

bone  of  a  goose,  and  wrote  talismanic  invocations  on 
different  parts  of  the  ship  —  as  "O  Steadfast  One"  on 
the  planks,  and  "O  Allotter  of  the  True  Path"  upon  the 
rudder.  The  patrons  of  Turkisii  seamen  are,  if  you 
please,  the  Seven  Sleepers  of  Ephesus!  Mohammed 
seems  to  have  entertained  a  sympathy  for  these  mythic 
beings,  whose  adventures  are  told  in  the  eighteenth 
chapter  of  the  Koran.  The  name  of  their  dog,  somewhat 
variously  known  as  Kitmir  or  AI  Rakim,  used  to  be  writ- 
ten on  the  outside  of  letters  in  order  to  ensure  their  safe 
passage  across  the  sea,  and  this  happy  animal  is  one  of 
the  few  to  whom  paradise  is  specifically  promised.  Von 
Hammer  accounts  for  the  association  of  so  curious  a 
company  with  seamen  on  the  ground  that  a  verse  of  the 
Koran  mentions  their  entering  a  ship.  But  astrologi- 
cally,  I  believe,  they  are  related  to  the  constellation  of  the 
Great  Bear;  whence  it  is  clear  enough  why  they  should 
be  concerned  with  navigation.  It  is  further  to  be  noted 
of  the  seamen  of  the  Golden  Horn  that  whether  they 
belong  to  the  Black  Sea  or  the  White,  and  whether  thej^ 
sacrifice  to  the  Seven  Sleepers  or  to  St.  Nicholas,  the  Jar- 
gon of  their  trade  is  almost  purely  Italian.  Even  the 
boatmen  in  the  harbour  shout  sia  when  they  want  each 
other  to  back  water,  not  suspecting  that  the  gondohers 
in  Venice  do  exactly  the  same  —  though  the  gondoliers 
may  not  spell  it  quite  as  I  do.  The  names  of  a  few  kinds 
of  ships  and  of  a  few  parts  of  them  have  been  shghtly 
Turkified  or  Grecicised,  as  the  case  may  be,  but  an 
Italian  sailor  would  be  lost  only  on  a  steamer.  There  a 
Turkish  captain  uses  English  words  as  glibly  as  you  or 
I.  On  a  motor-boat,  however,  he  would  pass  to  French. 
It  is  rather  surprising  that  the  Greeks,  who  were 
always  a  seafaring  people,  should  have  taken  over  so 
much   of  the  ship   language   of  their   Latin   conquerors. 


128       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

The  case  of  the  Turks  is  less  surprising,  for  they  are  tent 
men  born.  Nor  have  their  corehgionaries  in  general 
ever  been  great  adventurers  upon  the  deep.  The  Cahph 
Omar  even  went  so  far  as  to  forbid  them  sea  voyages. 
Nevertheless,  the  science  of  navigation  owes  much  to 
the  Arabs,  and  we  get  from  them  our  words  arsenal 
and  admiral' — meaning  "house  of  construction"  and 
"prince  of  the  sea"  —  while  some  of  the  greatest  ex- 
ploits of  the  Turks  were  connected  with  the  sea.  The 
deep  valley  of  Kassim  Pasha,  inside  the  Azap  Kapou 
bridge,  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  final  scene  of  one  of 
the  most  celebrated  of  those  exploits,  the  one  success- 
fully carried  out  by  Sultan  Mehmed  II  during  his  siege 
of  the  city,  when  he  hauled  a  squadron  of  eighty  galleys 
out  of  the  Bosphorus,  dragged  them  over  the  hills  in  a 
night,  and  relaunched  them  inside  the  chain  that  locked 
the  Golden  Horn.  That  chain  may  be  seen  to-day  in  the 
military  museum  of  St.  Irene.  Kassim  Pasha  does  not 
seem  to  me  altogether  to  fit  the  contemporary  descrip- 
tions, although  it  would  offer  the  easiest  route.  There 
is  no  doubt,  however,  about  the  famous  arsenal  that  sits 
sohdly  at  the  mouth  of  the  valley  to  this  day.  How 
many  days  it  will  continue  to  sit  there  is  another  matter, 
for  its  long  water-front  may  become  more  valuable  for 
commercial  purposes  than  for  those  of  a  modern  shipyard. 
It  was  founded  by  Sultan  Selim  I  in  15 15,  was  enlarged 
by  his  son  Siilei'man  the  Magnificent,  and  reached  the 
climax  of  its  importance  under  his  grandson  Selim  II. 
Those  were  the  great  days  when  the  Captains  of  the 
White  Sea  were  the  terror  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  when 
a  disaster  like  the  battle  of  Lepanto,  in  which  the  Turks 
lost  two  hundred  and  twenty-four  ships  and  thirty  thou- 
sand men,  could  not  shake  the  empire.  The  Grand  Vizier 
SokoIIi    Mehmed    Pasha    said    to    the    Venetian    Balio, 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN  129 

apropos  of  that  battle  and  of  the  conquest  of  Cyprus  by 
the  Turks  which  preceded  it:  "There  is  a  great  difference 
between  your  loss  and  ours.  In  taking  a  kingdom  from 
you  it  is  an  arm  of  yours  that  we  have  cut  off,  while  you, 
in  beating  our  fleet,  have  merely  shaved  our  beard." 
Nor  was  this  a  piece  of  rodomontade.  The  winter  after 
Lepanto,  157 1-2,  one  hundred  and  fifty-eight  galleys  of 
different  sizes  were  laid  down  in  the  Arsenal.  And  when 
that  famous  Prince  of  the  Sea  Kihj  Ali  Pasha  expressed 
a  doubt  as  to  whether  he  could  fmd  the  rigging  and 
anchors  he  needed,  the  Grand  Vizier  said  to  him:  "Lord 
Admiral,  the  wealth  and  powxr  of  the  empire  are  such 
that  if  it  were  necessary  we  would  make  anchors  of  sil- 
ver, cables  of  silk,  and  sails  of  satin." 

A  few  relics  of  this  fallen  greatness  are  to  be  seen  in 
the  museum  of  the  Arsenal,  some  distance  up  the  Horn 
from  the  Admiralty  proper.  Some  wonderful  figureheads 
of  galleys  are  there,  flags  and  pennants  of  different  sorts, 
a  chart  of  the  time  of  the  Conqueror  painted  on  parch- 
ment, a  few  interesting  models,  and  one  or  tw^o  of  the 
big  ship  lanterns  that  were  the  sign  of  the  dignity  of  an 
admiral,  corresponding  to  the  horsetails  of  the  vezirs. 
A  pasha  of  three  lanterns,  however,  was  a  much  more 
important  personage  than  a  pasha  of  three  tails.  Most 
picturesque  of  all  are  a  number  of  great  gilded  caiques, 
w'ith  swooping  bows  and  high  sterns,  in  which  the  sultans 
used  to  go  abroad.  The  largest  of  them  is  said  to  have 
been  a  Venetian  galley.  It  has  twenty-two  rowlocks  on 
either  side,  and  each  oar  was  row^ed  by  three  or  four  men. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  long  horizontal  overhang  of  the 
bow  does  look  rather  like  some  of  the  models  in  the 
Arsenal  at  Venice,  while  two  lions  guard  the  stern.  But 
the  hons  have  no  wings,  they  were  always  a  favourite 
ornament  of  Turkish  as  of  Byzantine  galleys,  and  the 


130      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

lines  of  the  hull  are  precisely  those  of  any  caique.  As  to 
the  imperial  cabin  at  the  stern  there  is  no  doubt.  It  is 
a  triple  cupola  rather,  supported  by  columns,  and  all 
inlaid  with  tortoise-shell  and  mother-of-pearl  and  lumps 
of  garnet  glass.  Reclining  under  this  wonderful  canopy 
Sultan  Mehmed  IV  used  to  go  about  the  Bosphorus, 
while  over  a  hundred  men  in  front  of  him  rose  and  fell 
with  their  oars.  What  a  splash  they  must  have  made! 
The  Arsenal  has  given  a  certain  colour  to  the  whole 
suburb  of  Kassim  Pasha.  It  is  chiefly  inhabited  by 
naval  officers,  who  under  Abd  ul  Hamid  II  outnumbered 
their  men!  There  is  a  quarter  of  it  called  Kalliounjou 
Koullouk,  which  means  the  Guardhouse  of  the  Galleon 
Men.  There  are  also  a  number  of  fountains  in  Kassim 
Pasha  carved  with  three  ship  lanterns  to  show  who  built 
them.  And  not  the  least  famous  of  the  Princes  of  the 
Sea  lies  there  himself  beside  the  mosque  he  raised  out  of 
the  spoils  of  his  piracies.  This  Pialeh  Pasha  was  by 
birth  a  Croat  and  the  son  of  a  shoemaker.  Captured  as 
a  boy  by  the  Janissaries,  he  grew  up  to  command  the 
fleets  of  his  captors,  to  conquer  Chio  and  sixty-six  other 
islands,  and  to  marry  the  daughter  of  Sultan  Sehm  II. 
But  he  failed  to  take  Malta  from  the  Knights  of  St. 
John,  and  it  was  the  bitterness  of  his  life.  His  mosque  is 
almost  unknown,  so  far  does  it  he  in  the  back  of  Kassim 
Pasha.  They  say  that  Pialeh  dug  a  canal  to  its  doors. 
They  also  say  that  he  wanted  to  make  it  hke  a  ship. 
The  mosque,  at  all  events,  is  different  from  all  other 
mosques  I  know.  The  nave  is  shallower  than  it  is  wide, 
its  six  equal  domes  being  held  up  by  two  central  pillars 
like  masts,  while  the  single  minaret  rises  out  of  the  wall 
opposite  the  mihrah.  The  mi7?ra6' itself,  contained  in  no 
apse,  is  perhaps  the  finest  tiled  mihrah  I  know.  Some  of 
the  tiles  have  been  stolen,  however,  and  the  mosque  in 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN 


131 


general  has  a  pillaged  appearance.  I  thought  from  the 
bareness  of  the  entrance  wall  that  a  large  part  of  the 
magnificent  frieze  of  blue  and  white  tiles,  an  inscription 
by  the  famous  Hassan   Chelibi,  must   have  been  stolen 


The  mihrab  of  Pialeh  Pasha 


too,  until  the  imam  told  me  that  the  frieze  originally 
stopped  there,  as  no  true  behever  may  turn  his  back  on 
any  part  of  the  Koran.  The  outside  of  the  mosque  is 
also  unusual,  with  its  deep  porch,  two-storied  at  either 
end.  It  is  the  largest  mosque  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Golden  Horn,  and  even  without  its  historical  and  archi- 
tectural interest  it  would  be  worth  a  visit  for  the  charm 


132       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

of  its  plane-shaded  yard  and  the  cypress  grove  behind  the 
mosque  where  Pialeh  lies  in  a  neglected  tiirbeh. 

I  perceive  that  I  am  now  embarked  on  a  chapter  more 
boundless  than  any.  Yet  how  can  one  speak  of  the  Golden 
Horn  and  be  silent  with  regard  to  its  shores?  I  have 
already  written  three  chapters  about  one  of  them,  to  be 
sure,  and  I  propose  to  write  a  fourth  about  the  other. 
But  the  quiet  inner  reaches  of  the  Golden  Horn  contain 
much  less  in  the  way  of  water  life,  and  depend  much 
more  upon  the  colour  of  their  banks.  This  colour  must 
have  been  vivider  before  steam  lengthened  the  radius  of 
the  dweller  in  Stamboul  and  when  the  Golden  Horn  was 
still  a  favourite  resort  of  the  court.  Nevertheless  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  character  in  the  quiet,  in  the  not  too 
prosperous  and  evidently  superseded  settlements  that 
follow  the  outer  bustle  of  the  harbour.  One  of  the  most 
characteristic  of  them  is  the  Greek  quarter  of  Phanar  — 
or  Fener,  as  the  Turks  call  it.  In  both  languages  the 
name  means  lantern  or  hghthouse.  It  originally  per- 
tained to  a  gate  of  the  city  wall,  being  derived  from  a 
beacon  anciently  marking  a  spit  of  land  in  front  of  the 
gate.  There  stood  more  anciently  an  inner  fortified  en- 
closure in  this  vicinity  called  the  Petrion.  A  convent  of 
that  name  once  existed,  I  know  not  whether  founded  by 
a  certain  Petrus,  a  noble  of  the  time  of  Justinian,  who 
lived  or  owned  property  in  this  neighbourhood.  It  was 
here  that  the  Venetians  were  able  to  effect  their  entrance 
into  the  city  in  1203  and  1204,  t)y  throwing  bridges  from 
their  galleys  to  the  battlements  of  the  walk  No  galley 
would  be  able  to  come  so  close  to  the  wall  to-day.  But 
the  wall  is  still  there,  or  large  parts  of  it.  And  behind  it, 
occupying  perhaps  the  site  of  the  old  Petrion,  the  Greek 
Patriarchs  of  Constantinople  have  had  their  headquarters 
for  the  past  three  hundred  years. 


THE  GOLDEN   HORN 


133 


You  would  never  guess,  to  look  at  the  rambling 
wooden  konak  or  the  simple  church  beside  it,  that  you 
were  looking  at  the  Vatican  of  the  Greek  world.  Neither 
would  you  suspect  that  the  long  alley  skirting  the  water, 
hemmed  in  between  dark  old  stone  houses  with  heavily 


Old  houses  of  Phanar 

barred  windows  and  upper  stories  jutting  out  toward 
each  other  on  massive  stone  brackets,  was  once  the 
Corso  of  Constantinople.  That  was  when  the  great 
Greek  families  that  furnished  princes  to  Moldavia  and 
Wallachia  and  dragomans  to  the  European  embassies 
and  to  the  Porte  maintained  the  splendour  of  a  court 


134       CONSTANTINOx^LE   OLD   AND   NEW 

around  the  Patriarchate.  The  ambassadors  of  the  trib- 
utarv-  principalities  lived  there,  too,  and  a  house  is  still 
pointed  out  as  the  Venetian  embassy.  A  very  different 
air  blows  in  the  Phanar  to-day.  Many  of  the  Phanari- 
otes  emigrated  to  Greece  or  otherwise  disappeared  at 
the  time  of  the  Greek  revohition,  while  those  of  their 
descendants  who  still  remain  in  Constantinople  prefer 
the  heights  of  Pera.  None  but  the  poorest,  together 
with  Armenians  and  Jews  not  a  few,  now  live  in  those 
old  stone  houses.  They  are  worth  looking  at,  however 
—  and  I  hope  prefectures  bursting  with  modernity  and 
the  zeal  of  street-widening  will  remember  it.  None  of 
the.:..  I  relieve,  dates  from  before  the  fifteenth  century, 
but  after  the  Palace  of  the  Porphyrogenitus  they  are  all 
that  is  left  to  give  an  idea  what  a  Byzantine  house  may 
have  looked  like.  They  also  suggest  how  the  old  wooden 
house  of  Stamboul  may  have  come  by  its  curv  ing  bracket. 
I:  .". :ne  of  them  are  vers*  decoratrve  on  the  outside,  we 
must  remember  that  the  house  of  a  mediaeval  Greek  in 
Stamboul  was  very  literally  his  castle.  Some  of  the 
houses  originally  contained  no  stairs  at  all,  unless  secret 
ones.  Beside  the  stone  house  stood  a  wooden  one  which 
contained  the  stairs,  and  each  floor  of  the  two  houses 
communicated  by  a  narrow  passage  and  two  or  three 
heavj^  iron  doors.  In  case  of  fire  or  massacre  the  in- 
mates betook  themselves  to  the  top  floor  of  their  stone 
house  and  barricaded  their  iron  doors  until  the  coast 
was  clear.  Occasionally  it  was  so  clear  that  no  wooden 
house  and  no  stairs  were  left  them.  But  you  would  never 
suspect  from  outside  what  pillars  and  arches,  what  mon- 
umental fireplaces,  what  plaster  mouldings,  what  mar- 
quetry- of  mother-of-pearl,  what  details  of  painting  and 
gilding  and  carving  those  top  floors  hide.  And  under  many 
of  them  gardens  still  run  green  to  the  water's  edge. 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN 


135 


Of  a  very  different  character  is  the  hollow  of  con- 
verging valleys  outside  the  city  wall  where  lies,  at  the 
end  of  the  Golden  Horn  proper,  the  suburb  of  Eyoub 
Soultan.  Eyoub  Soultan,  anglice  Prince  Job,  takes  its 
name  from  a  friend  and  standard-bearer  of  the  Prophet 
who  took  part  in  the  third  Arab  siege  of  Constantinople 
in  668  and  fell  outside  the  walls.     Of  this  sood  man  and 


1. 

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The  outer  court  of  Evoub 


his  last  resting-place  so  many  legendary  things  are  re- 
lated that  I  don't  know  where  my  chapter  would  end  if 
I  repeated  only  the  few  of  them  I  have  heard.  I  can  only 
say  that  when  Sultan  Mehmed  II  was  makins;  his  own 
siege,  eight  hundred  years  later,  he  opportunely  dis- 
covered the  burial-place  of  the  saintly  warrior.  This 
discover^-  having  stimulated  the  flagging  ardour  of  the 
besiegers,  with  what   results    we    know,  the    Conqueror 


136      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

built  a  splendid  mausoleum  above  the  grave  of  the 
Prophet's  friend  and  beside  it  the  first  of  the  imperial 
mosques.  To  this,  the  holiest  shrine  of  Islam  in  Con- 
stantinople, the  sultans  come  for  that  ceremony  which 
takes  for  them  the  place  of  a  coronation — to  be  girded 
with  the  sword  of  Osman.  So  holy  a  shrine  is  it  that 
until  the  r^-establishment  of  the  constitution  in  1908  no 
Christian  had  ever  entered  that  mosque  except  in  dis- 
guise, or  so  much  as  its  outer  court.  Even  now  it  is 
not  easy  for  a  Christian  to  see  the  inside  of  the  tiir- 
beh.  I  have  not,  at  all  events.  But  I  count  myself 
happy  to  have  seen  its  outer  wall  of  bkie  and  green 
tiles,  shaded  by  broad  eaves  and  pierced  in  the  centre 
by  an  intricate  grille  of  brass  which  shines  where  the 
fingers  of  the  faithful  pass  over  the  letters  of  the  creed. 
And  I  must  confess  that  I  lay  up  no  grudge  against 
the  imams  for  keeping  me  out.  I  cannot  say  it  is  for 
the  same  reason  that  another  man  of  God,  with  whom 
I  sometimes  sit  in  front  of  another  tomb  in  Stamboul, 
once  gave  me  for  never  having  been  himself  in  the 
tomb  of  Eyoub:  that  he  did  not  feel  himself  worthy. 
It  is,  rather,  an  inconsistent  feehng  that  I  am  not  sorry 
if  some  things  and  some  places  still  be  held  sacred  in 
the  world.  Oi\  one  side  of  the  tomb,  opening  out  of  the 
same  tiled  wall,  is  a  sebil  where  an  attendant  waits  to 
give  cups  of  cold  water  to  the  thirsty.  On  the  other 
side  a  window  opens  through  a  grille  of  small  green 
bronze  hexagons  into  a  patch  of  garden  where  a  few 
rose-bushes  stand  among  graves.  And  in  the  centre  of 
the  quadrangle  stand  two  enormous  plane-trees,  or  what 
is  left  of  them,  planted  there  by  the  Conqueror  five  hun- 
dred years  ago.  The  mosque  itself  is  not  very  interest- 
ing, having  been  restored  too  many  times.  It  contains 
one  much-prized  relic,  however,  consisting  of  a  print  of 


Eyoub 


THE   GOLDEN    HORN  139 

the  Prophet's  foot  in  stone.  Beside  the  mosque  and 
the  forecourt  is  a  second  court,  larger  and  irregular  in 
shape,  also  shaded  by  plane-trees,  where,  furthermore, 
are  a  fountain  of  abhition  and  painted  gravestones  in 
railings  and  a  colony  of  pigeons  that  are  pampered  like 
those  of  St.  Mark's. 

The  quarter  that  has  grown  up  around  this  mosque 
is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  in  Constantinople.  No 
very  notable  houses  are  there,  but  they  all  have  the 
grave  dignity  which  the  Turks  contrive  to  put  into 
everything  they  do,  and  the  streets  take  a  tone  from 
the  great  number  of  pious  institutions  that  line  them, 
interspersed  with  cypresses  and  tombs.  The  quarter  is 
indeed,  more  than  any  other,  the  Pantheon  of  Stamboul, 
so.  many  important  personages  have  chosen  to  be  buried 
near  the  friend  of  the  Prophet.  The  pious  Mehmed  V, 
however,  is  the  first  sultan  who  has  chosen  to  He  to  the 
last  day  in  the  company  of  all  those  good  and  famous 
men.  Several  of  the  most  notable  mausoleums,  though 
the  most  neglected,  are  of  the  period  of  Suleiman  I,  and 
built  by  Sinan.  In  one  of  them,  separated  from  a  little 
library  by  a  porch  of  precious  tiles,  lies  the  Bosnian  slave, 
nicknamed  from  his  birthplace  SokoIIi  Mehmed,  whose 
destiny  it  was  to  become  the  Treasurer  of  Siileiman, 
successor  to  the  terrible  admiral  Barbarossa,  and  Grand 
Vizier  of  the  empire.  When  his  imperial  master  died 
on  the  battle-field  of  Szigeth,  in  Hungary,  Mehmed 
Pasha  succeeded  in  hiding  the  fact  until  Selim  H  could 
reach  Constantinople.  The  young  sultan  was  the  worst 
who  had  yet  ascended  the  throne,  but  he  stood  in  such 
awe  of  his  father's  great  minister  that  Sokolli  ruled 
the  empire  throughout  Selim's  reign  and  part  of  that 
of  Mourad  HI.  Three  hundred  years  before  De  Lesseps 
he   conceived   the   idea   of  the   Suez   Canal,    and    might 


140       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

have   carried   it   out   had   he   lived.     He   was   murdered 
in    1579  —  at  the   instigation,   it  was  whispered,   of  the 
jealous    and    cruel    Lala    Moustafa    Pasha.     The    latter 
also   has   a   place   in   this   Turkish   Pantheon.     He   was 
the  barbarian  who  flayed  alive  Marcantonio  Bragadin, 
the  heroic  defender  of  Famagusta,  and  stuffed  his  skin 
w  ith  straw.     Having  been  paraded  before  the  troops  in 
Cyprus  and  hung  up  in  the  Arsenal  at  Kassim  Pasha 
for  the  edification  of  the  galley-slaves,  this  bloody  trophy 
^^•as  at  last  presented  to  the  Venetians,  w^ho  gave  it  hon- 
ourable burial  in  their  own  Pantheon  of  SS.  Giovanni  e 
Paolo.     Lala  Moustafa  was  himself  of  Christian  origin, 
being  of  the  same  Serb  race  as  SokoIIi  Mehmed  Pasha, 
the  admiral  Pialeh  Pasha,  and  still  another  son-in-law 
of  the  imperial  house  who  lies  in  Eyoub,  Ferhad  Pasha, 
a  vizier  of  Mourad  HI  and  Mehmed  IV.     Although  not 
born  in  the  faith,  Ferhad  Pasha  was  renowned  for  the 
beauty  of  his  calligraphy.     Among  this  group  of  mauso- 
leums is  that  of  one  real  Turk,  the  celebrated  Shei'h  ill 
Islam    Ebou   Sououd    Effendi,   who   drew   up   and   inter- 
preted the  laws  of  Suleiman. 

The  turhehs  cluster  so  thickly  between  the  mosque 
and  the  water  that  one  avenue  is  lined  by  nothing  else, 
and  from  It  little  paved  alleys  wander  away  between 
crowded  gravestones  and  arching  trees.  Few  of  the 
trees  are  cypresses  here.  The  cypresses  inhabit  a  hill 
beyond  this  silent  quarter,  and  through  them  climbs  the 
most  picturesque  street  in  Eyoub.  Toward  the  top  it 
forks.  Whichever  way  you  take,  you  will  do  well,  par- 
ticularly in  the  spring,  when  the  left-hand  lane  brings 
you  into  sight  of  a  blossoming  valley  of  fruit-trees.  But 
you  will  do  better  after  all  to  take  the  right-hand  turn 
and  climb  a  little  farther,  the  cypresses  and  gravestones 
thinning  as  you  climb,  till  you  come  to  a  coffee-house 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN 


141 


that  did  not  need  Pierre  Loti  to  make  it  famous.  Any 
man  who  gazes  from  a  height  upon  leagues  of  space  and 
many  habitations  of  his  fellow  men  is  forced  into  phi- 
losophy. Here,  however,  you  sip  in  with  your  coffee 
strange  things  indeed  as  you  look  down  from  your  high 
cemetery  edge,  past  cypresses  and  turbaned  stones  and 


The  cemetery  of  Eyoub 

the  minarets  of  the  mosque  and  the  procession  of  siege- 
battered  towers  scahng  the  slope  beyond,  upon  the 
whole  picture  of  the  Golden  Horn  framed  between  its 
two  beethng  cities.  The  outer  bridge,  to  be  sure,  is  cut 
off  by  the  curve  of  Galata;  but  the  heights  of  Scutari, 
or  sometimes  those  of  the  Bithynian  Olympus,  are  visi- 
ble to  remind  you  what  a  meeting-place  of  nations  is 
here. 


142      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

On  this  hilltop  stood  in  old  times  the  castle  of  Cos- 
midion,  where  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  and  Bohemund 
stopped  with  their  men  on  the  way  to  the  first  crusade. 
The  castle  took  its  name  from  the  adjoining  church  of 
SS.  Cosmas  and  Damian,  built  by  Theodosius  the  Younger 
and  rebuilt  with  magnificence  by  Justinian.  In  times 
still  older  this  was  the  hill  called  Semistra  —  or  so  I  shall 
choose  to  believe  until  some  one  proves  me  wrong. 
Walking  along  its  bare  crest,  where  you  sometimes  meet 
camels  marching  strangely  in  from  the  villages  of  Thrace, 
you  overlook  that  last  reach  of  the  Golden  Horn  which 
used  to  be  called  Argyrohmnai,  the  Silver  Pools.  Two 
small  streams  come  together  here,  the  Cydaris  and  the 
Barbyses  as  they  once  were  called,  and  they  played  a 
particular  part  in  the  mythology  of  Byzantium.  lo, 
fleeing  from  the  jealousy  of  Hera,  gave  birth  to  her 
daughter  Keroessa  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  where  the  two 
streams  meet.  The  child  was  nursed  by  Semistra,  who 
gave  her  name  to  the  hill  in  question,  and  in  whose  hon- 
our an  altar  anciently  stood  at  the  meeting-place  of  the 
rivers.  Keroessa  became  in  turn  the  mother  of  Byzas, 
founder  of  Byzantium.  The  father  of  Byzas  was  no  less 
a  personage  than  Poseidon,  god  of  the  sea,  and  the  son 
married  Phidalia,  daughter  of  the  river  Barb^^ses.  How 
it  happened  that  Byzas  also  came  from  so  far  away  as 
Megara  I  do  not  pretend  to  know;  but  in  the  name 
Keroessa,  which  seems  to  be  connected  with  the  meta- 
morphosis of  lo,  we  have  the  mythic  origin  of  the  name  of 
the  Golden  Horn. 

The  two  rivers  are  now  called  Ali  Bey  Souyou  and 
Kiat  Haneh  Souyou,  and  a  power-house  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  altar  of  Semistra.  The  upper  branches  of 
both  valleys  are  bridged  by  a  number  of  aqueducts,  of 
all  periods  from  Justinian  to  Suleiman,  and  emperors  and 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN  143 

sultans  alike  loved  to  take  refuge  in  this  pleasant  wilder- 
ness.    How  it  may  have  been  with  the  Greeks  I  do  not 
know,   but   for  the  Turks   spring   has   always   been   the 
season  of  the  rivers.     The  northern  extremity  of  Eyoub, 
bordering  the  Silver  Pools,  is  still  called  Beharieh,  from 
a  spring  palace  of  Sultan  Mahmoud  I  that  exists  no  more. 
It  is  with  the  name  of  his  uncle  Ahmed  HI,  however,  that 
the  two  valleys  are  chiefly  associated.     The  last  words 
of  Nero  might  more  justly  have  been  uttered  by  this 
humane    and    splendour-loving    prince  —  qualis    artijex 
pereo!     He  delighted  above  all  things  in  flowers,  water, 
and  illuminations  —  though  I  cannot  conceal  that  he  also 
cherished  an  extreme  admiration  for  breathing  beauty. 
He  was  one  of  the  greatest  builders  who  have  reigned  in 
Constantinople,  and  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  discover 
a*  grand  vizier  of  like  tastes  with  himself.     It  happened 
that  an  intelligent  young  envoy  of  theirs,  known  by  the 
curious  name  of  Twenty-eight  Mehmed,  from  the  num- 
ber of  his  years  when  he  signed  the  Peace  of  Passarowitz 
went,  in  1720,  on  a  special  embassy  to  Paris.     He  brought 
back  such  accounts  of  the  court  of  Louis  XV,  such  pic- 
tures and  presents  also,  as  to  change  the  whole  course  of 
Ottoman   architecture.     So  vivid  a  description   in  par- 
ticular did  the  ambassador  give  of  the   new^  palace  of 
Versailles    and    of  its  older  rival  at  Marly-Ie-Roi,  that 
Ahmed  III  resolved  to  imitate  them.     He  had  already 
built  a  seat  on  the  banks  of  the  AH  Bey  Souyou,  whose 
magnificent  planes  and  cypresses  may  still  be  admired 
there.     He  then  turned  his  attention  to  the  Kiat  Haneh 
valley,  where  he  played    strange  tricks  wdth  the  river, 
laid   out  gardens,   built   a  palace,   and   commanded   his 
courtiers  to  follow  his  example  —  a  la  Louis  XIV  and  the 
Signs  of  the  Zodiac.     There  grew  up  as  by  magic  a  con- 
tinuous line  of  villas  and  gardens  from  the  village  of  Kiat 


144      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

Haneh  to  that  of  Siitliijeh,  opposite  Eyoub.  And  the 
fete  which  the  sultan  gave  when  he  inaugurated  this 
new  pleasure-ground  was  the  most  splendid  of  the  many 
that  marked  his  long  reign.  It  befell  him,  however, 
in  1730,  to  be  dethroned.  Whereupon  a  fanatical  mob 
asked  permission  of  his  successor  to  burn  the  palaces  of 
Kiat  Haneh.  Mahmoud  I  replied  that  he  could  not 
allow  the  palaces  to  be  burned,  lest  other  nations  draw 
unfavourable  conclusions  with  regard  to  the  inner  har- 
mony of  the  empire,  but  that  the  palaces  might  be  de- 
stroyed! They  accordingly  were  —  one  hundred  and 
seventy-three  of  them.  Of  so  much  magnificence  not 
one  stone  now  remains  upon  another,  and  he  who  rows 
past  the  Silver  Pools  to-day  is  almost  asphyxiated  by  the 
fumes  of  the  brick-kihis  that  have  replaced  the  pleasances 
of  old. 

As  for  the  river  itself,  it  comes  nearer  deserving  the 
name  which  Europeans  have  given  it,  of  the  Sweet  Waters 
of  Europe.  Why  they  did  so  I  do  not  know,  unless  they 
thought  the  real  name  too  prosaic.  Kiat  Haneh  means 
Paper  House,  from  a  mill  originally  built  there  by  Siilei- 
man  I.  The  valley  it  waters  has  remained  an  open 
meadow  of  occasional  trees  —  perhaps  in  accordance 
with  the  old  Turkish  usage,  whereby  any  place  where  the 
sultan  pitches  his  tent  belongs  thereafter  to  his  people 
to  the  end  of  time.  I  presume  the  meadow  of  Kiat  Haneh 
is  destined  ultimately  to  become  a  city  park.  In  the 
meantime  a  palace  of  Abd  iil  Aziz,  looking  rather  like  a 
frosted  cake,  stands  in  the  walled  park  of  Ahmed  III. 
The  huge  rooms  are  empty  of  furniture,  and  no  one  is 
there  to  watch  the  river  splash  down  its  marble  cascades 
except  two  sour  custodians  and  the  gentle  old  imam  of 
the  adjoining  mosque.  But  for  a  few  weeks  in  spring, 
beginning  with  the  open-air  festival  of  Hidir  Eless,  the 


THE   GOLDEN   HORN 


145 


lower  part  of  the  valley  is  a  favourite  place  of  resort. 
Sunday  and  Friday  are  the  popular  days.  Then  arbours 
of  saplings  thatched  with  dried  boughs  follow  the  curve 
of  the  river;  then  picnic  parties  spread  rugs  or  matting 
on  the  grass,  partaking  of  strange  meats  while  masters 
of  pipe  and  drum   enchant  their  ears;    then   groups  of 


Kiat  Haneh 


Turkish  ladies,  in  gay  silks,  dot  the  sward  hke  tulips; 
then  itinerant  venders  of  fruit,  of  sweets,  of  nuts,  of  ice- 
cream, do  hawk  about  their  wares;  then  fortune-tellers, 
mountebanks,  bear  tamers,  dancers,  Punch  and  Judy 
shows  may  be  seen;  and  boats  pass  and  repass  on  the 
river  hke  carriages  on  the  Corso.  Most  of  them  are 
sandals  of  the  smarter  kind.     But  once  in  a  while  the 


146      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

most  elegant  craft  in  the  world  skims  into  sight  —  a 
three-oared  caifque,  with  a  piece  of  embroidered  velvet, 
whose  corner  tassels  trail  in  the  water,  thrown  over  the 
httle  deck  behind  the  seat.  The  kaikjis  are  handsome 
fellows,  in  fuller  white  cotton  knickerbockers  than  you 
can  imagine,  in  white  stockings,  in  shirts  of  crinkly 
Broussa  gauze  and  short  sleeveless  jackets  embroidered 
with  gold. 

Most  of  the  ladies  are  in  the  modern  Turkish  costume, 
with  a  kind  of  silk  mantilla  of  the  same  material  as  the 
dress  falling  from  the  head  to  the  waist.  The  effect  is 
very  Spanish  and  graceful  — ■  more  so  than  when  the 
ladies  wear  a  white  scarf  over  their  hair  and  a  long  gar- 
ment as  shapeless  as  a  waterproof.  In  these  degenerate 
days  veils  are  more  often  absent  than  not.  I  must  warn 
you,  however,  that  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Europe  are  not 
the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia.  I  remember  noticing  one  day 
on  the  river  a  gaudy  little  skiff  rowed  by  two  young  and 
gaily  costumed  boatmen.  In  the  stern  sat  an  extremely 
fat  Turkish  lady,  steering.  She  was  dressed  decorously 
in  black,  and  the  black  veil  thrown  back  from  her  face 
allowed  every  one  to  remark  that  she  was  neither  in  her 
first  youth  nor  particularly  handsome.  Yet  boatmen 
snickered  as  she'  passed,  and  rowdies  called  after  her  in 
slang  which  it  seemed  to  me  should  not  be  used  to  a 
lady.  I  said  as  much  to  my  ka'ikji,  who  told  me  that  the 
lady  was  a  famous  demi-mondaine ,  named  Madam  Falcon, 
and  that  for  the  rest  I  must  never  expect  such  good 
manners  at  Kiat  Haneh  as  at  Gyok  Sou.  I  must  confess 
that  I  looked  at  Madam  Falcon  with  some  interest  the 
next  time  we  passed ;  for  the  Turkish  half-world  is  of  all 
half-worlds  the  most  invisible,  and  so  far  as  I  knew  I  had 
never  seen  a  member  of  it  before.  Madam  Falcon  paid 
no  attention  to  the  curiosity  she  aroused.     Sitting  there 


THE   GOLDEN    HORN  147 

impassively  in  her  black  dress,  with  her  smooth  yellow 
skin,  she  made  one  think  of  a  graven  image,  of  some 
Indian  Bouddha  in  old  ivory.  So  venerable  a  person  she 
seemed,  so  benevolent,  so  decorous  and  dead  to  the  world, 
that  she  only  made  her  half-world  more  remote  and  in- 
visible than  ever.  But  she  was  a  sign  —  in  spite  of  the 
smart  brougham  driving  slowly  along  the  shore  with  a 
Palace  eunuch  sitting  on  the  box  —  that  the  great  days 
of  Kiat  Haneh  are  ^one.  Nevertheless  it  has,  during  its 
brief  time  of  early  green,  a  colour  of  its  own.  And  the 
serpentine  river,  winding  between  tufts  of  trees  and  under 
Japanesey  wooden  bridges,  is  always  a  pleasant  piece  of 
line  and  light  in  a  spring  sun.  But  beware  of  the  coffee- 
house men  on  the  shore!  For  their  season  is  short,  and  if 
they  catch  you  they  will  skin  you  alive. 


V 
THE   MAGNIFICENT   COMMUNITY 

Galata,  que  mcs  ycux  desiraient  dcs  longtemps.  .  . 

—  Andre  Chenier. 

In  Pera  sono  ire  nialanni: 
Peste,  fnoco,  dragomanni. 

^ Local  Proverb. 

It  is  not  the  fashion  to  speak  well  of  Pera  and  Ga- 
lata. A  good  Turk  will  sigh  of  another  that  he  has  gone 
to  Pera,  by  way  of  saying  that  he  has  gone  to  the  dogs. 
A  foreign  resident  will  scarcely  admit  that  so  much  as 
the  view  is  good.  Even  a  Perote  born  pretends  not  to 
love  his  Grande  Rue  if  he  happens  to  have  read  Loti 
or  Claude  Farrere.  And  tourists  are  supposed  to  have 
done  the  left  bank  of  the  Golden  Horn  when  they  have 
watched  the  Sultan  drive  to  mosque  and  have  giggled 
at  the  whirling  dervishes.  A  few  of  the  more  thorough- 
going will,  perhaps,  take  the  trouble  to  climb  Galata 
Tower  or  to  row  up  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Europe.  For 
my  part,  however,  who  belong  to  none  of  these  cate- 
gories, I  am  perverse  enough  to  find  Pera  and  Galata 
a  highly  superior  place  of  habitation.  I  consider  that 
their  greatest  fault  is  to  lie  under  the  shadow  of  Stam- 
boul  —  though  that  gives  them  one  inestimable  advan- 
tage which  Stamboul  herself  lacks,  namely  the  view  of 
the  dark  okl  city  crowned  by  her  imperial  mosques. 
Pera  —  and  I  now  mean  the  whole  promontory  between 

148 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COMMUNITY        149 

the  Golden  Horn  and  the  Bosphorus  —  Pera  occupies  a 
really  magnificent  site,  it  has  a  history  of  its  own,  it 
contains  monuments  that  would  make  the  fortune  of 
any  other  town,  and  it  fairly  drips  with  that  modern 
pigment  known  as  local  colour.  Who  knows,  it  may 
even  be  destined  to  inherit  the  renown  of  the  older  city. 
Stamboul  tends  to  diminish,  whereas  Pera  grows  and 
has  unlimited  room  for  growing.  The  left  bank  is  al- 
ready the  seat  of  the  Sultan  and  of  the  bulk  of  the  com- 
merce and  finance  of  the  capital.  Moreover,  the  battles 
of  the  revolution  fought  there  in  1909  give  the  place  a 
peculiar  interest  in  the  eyes  of  the  Young  Turks.  On 
that  soil,  less  encumbered  than  Stamboul  with  the  de- 
bris of  history,  they  may  find  conditions  more  favourable 
for  the  city  of  their  future. 

If  the  story  of  Pera  cannot  compare  with  that  of  the 
grey  mother  city,  it  nevertheless  can  boast  associations 
of  which  communities  more  self-important  might  be 
proud.  Jason  stopped  there  on  his  way  to  get  the 
Golden  Fleece,  and  after  him  Beshiktash  was  known  in 
antiquity  as  lasonion.  In  the  valley  behind  that  pic- 
turesque suburb  there  later  existed  a  famous  laurel  grove, 
sacred  of  course  to  Apollo,  who,  with  Poseidon,  was  pa- 
tron of  Byzantium.  The  sun-god  was  also  worshipped 
at  a  sacred  fount  which  still  exists  in  Galata,  within  the 
enclosure  of  the  Latin  church  of  St.  George.  Legend 
makes  this  spring  the  scene  of  the  martyrdom  of  St. 
Irene,  daughter  of  a  Roman  ruler,  who  was  put  to  death 
for  refusing  to  sacrifice  to  Apollo  and  who  became  her- 
self the  patron  saint  of  the  new  Christian  city  of  Con- 
stantinople. Christianity  is  said  to  have  been  brought 
there  by  no  less  a  person  than  the  apostle  Andrew.  He 
is  also  reputed  to  have  died  in  Galata,  though  another 
tradition  makes  Patras  the  scene  of  his  death;  but  in  any 


150      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

case  he  was  buried  in  Constantine's  Church  of  the  Holy 
Apostles.  The  church  of  St.  Irene  where  he  preached, 
somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Top  Haneh,  was  restored  with 
magnificence  by  Justinian.  An  earlier  emperor,  Leo  the 
Great,  had  already  built  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Be- 
shiktash  the  celebrated  church  of  St.  Mamas,  together 
with  a  palace  that  was  long  a  favourite  resort  of  the 
imperial  family.  In  the  light  of  recent  history  it  is  in- 
teresting to  recall  that  Krum,  King  of  Bulgaria,  sacked 
and  burned  the  suburb  of  St.  Mamas,  with  the  rest  of 
Thrace,  in  8i  i. 

Among  the  antiquities  of  the  town,  its  names  have 
been  the  subject  of  much  research  and  confusion.  Pera 
is  a  Romaic  word  meaning  opposite  or  beyond,  and  first 
apphed  indiscriminately  with  Galata  to  the  rural  sub- 
urb on  the  north  shore  of  the  Golden  Horn.  This  hill 
was  also  called  Sykai,  from  the  fig-trees  that  abounded 
there;  and  when  the  mortar-loving  Justinian  beautified 
and  walled  the  suburb,  he  renamed  it  after  himself. 
With  regard  to  the  word  Galata  there  has  been  infinite 
dispute.  I  myself  thought  I  had  solved  the  question 
when  I  went  to  Genoa  and  saw  steep  little  alleys,  for 
all  the  world  hke  those  I  knew  in  Genoese  Galata,  which 
were  named  Calata  —  a  descent  to  the  sea  —  and  of 
which  the  local  dialect  made  the  c  a  g.  But  the  accent 
was  different,  and  I  lived  to  learn  that  the  name,  as 
that  of  a  castle  on  the  water's  edge,  has  been  found  in 
Byzantine  MSS.  dating  from  two  hundred  years  earlier 
than  the  time  Genoa  founded  her  colony  there.  Ville- 
hardouin  also  speaks  of  the  tower  of  "Galathas,"  which 
the  crusaders  stormed  as  a  prehminary  to  their  capture 
of  Constantinople.  It  apparently  stood  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  custom-house,  and  to  it  was  attached  the  chain 
that  padlocked  the  Golden  Horn.     I  would  like  to  be- 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COiMiMUNITY        151 

lieve  that  the  name  came  from  Brennus  and  his  Gauls, 
or  Galatians,  who  passed  this  way  with  fire  and  sword 
in  the  third  century  B.  C.  There  is  more  certainty, 
however,  with  regard  to  its  own  derivatives.  The  Ital- 
ian word  galetta  is  one  of  them,  more  or  less  familiar 
in  English  and  very  common  in  its  French  form  of  ga- 
leae. Another  French  word,  galetas,  is  also  derived  from 
Galata,  meaning  a  high  garret  and  hence  a  poor  tene- 
ment. Belonging  at  first  to  the  castle  alone,  the  name 
seems  to  have  spre'ad  to  the  whole  surrounding  settle- 
ment. It  now  applies  to  the  lower  part  of  the  hill, 
formerly  enclosed  by  the  Genoese  wall,  while  Pera  is  the 
newer  town  on  top  of  the  hill,  "beyond"  the  old. 

The  history  of  the  town  we  know  began  in  the  Latin 
colonies  that  originally  fringed  the  opposite  shore  of  the 
Golden  Horn.  Constantinople  has  always  been  a  cos- 
mopolitan city.  The  emperors  themselves  were  of  many 
races  and  the  empire  they  governed  was  as  full  of  unas- 
similated  elements  as  it  is  to-day.  Then  even  from  so 
far  away  as  England  and  Denmark  men  came  to  trade 
in  the  great  city  that  was  named  from  a  citizen  of  \  ork. 
It  was  natural  that  Italians  should  come  in  the  greatest 
number,  though  they  felt  less  and  less  at  home  as  the 
emperors  became  more  and  more  Greek.  The  people  of 
Amalfi  and  Ancona,  the.  Florentines,  the  Genoese,  the 
Lombards,  the  Pisans,  and  the  Venetians,  all  had  impor- 
tant colonies  in  Constantinople.  And  by  the  twelfth 
century  four  of  them  at  least  had  their  own  settlements 
between  Seraglio  Point  and  the  Azap  Kapou  Bridge. 
The  easternmost  were  the  Genoese,  whose  quarter  was 
near  the  present  railway  station;  next  came  the  Pi- 
sans, then  the  men  of  Amalfi  —  not  far  from  Yeni  Jami 
—  and  last  the  Venetians. 

The  Venetian  colony  was  long  the  most  important. 


152      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

Basil  II,  the  Slayer  of  the  Bulgarians,  as  early  as  991 
granted  to  Venice  definite  commercial  privileges,  which 
were  greatly  extended  a  hundred  years  later  by  Alexius 
II  in  gratitude  for  the  help  the  Repubhc  had  given  him 
against  Robert  Guiscard  and  the  Normans.  The  colony 
occupied  an  important  strip  of  water-front,  from  the 
western  side  of  the  outer  bridge  to  the  anchorage  of  the 
wood  galleons  under  the  Siileimanieh.  During  the  Latin 
occupation  the  Venetians  naturally  extended  their  bor- 
ders, since  the  Repubhc  had  taken  so  important  a  part  in 
the  Fourth  Crusade;  and  the  Doge  now  added  to  his 
other  titles  that  of  Lord  of  a  Quarter  and  a  Half  of  the 
Roman  Empire.  But  in  spite  of  the  Greek  restoration 
of  1 26 1  and  the  consequent  rise  of  Genoese  influence, 
the  Venetians  still  maintained  their  foothold.  They 
continued  to  keep  their  strip  of  the  Golden  Horn  and 
to  form  an  imperium  in  imperio  after  the  manner  of  for- 
eign colonies  in  Constantinople  to-day.  The  origin,  in- 
deed, of  the  capitulations  which  embarrass  the  Turks  so 
much  is  perhaps  the  Capitulare  Baiulis  ConstantinopoU- 
tani  which  governed  the  Baho.  This  functionary,  sent 
every  two  years  from  Venice,  was  both  the  viceroy  of 
his  colony  and  minister  resident  to  the  emperor.  As 
such  he  had  pkces  of  honour  in  St.  Sophia  and  the 
Hippodrome,  and  the  Byzantine  government  allowed  him 
certain  supplies.  The  office  continued,  in  fact,  down  to 
the  end  of  the  Repubhc,  though  under  the  Turks  the 
Baho  was  less  viceroy  than  ambassador.  No  trace  seems 
to  remain,  however,  of  that  long  occupation.  I  have 
often  wondered  if  any  of  the  old  stone  Joans  in  the  quar- 
ter of  the  Dried  Fruit  Bazaar  go  back  so  far,  or  the  two ' 
marble  hons  which  still  spout  water  into  a  pool  in  the 
court  of  one  of  them.  I  have  also  asked  myself  whether 
the  small  medresseh  of  Kefenek  Sinan,  with  its  odd  octag- 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COMMUNITY        153 

onal  tower,  ever  had  anything  to  do  with  Venice.  But 
the  only  indisputable  relic  of  Venice  I  have  come  across 
is  the  Varda!  the  porters  shout  when  they  warn  you  out 
of  their  way.  That  is  the  Venetian  dialect  for  guarda, 
or  "look  out"  —  as  any  man  can  verify  in  Venice  to-dav. 


ML^ 


Lion  fountain  in  the  old  Venetian  quarter 

In  the  growing  rivalry  between  Venice  and  Genoa 
the  former  enjoyed  a  constant  advantage  in  Constanti- 
nople until  1 26 1.  Then  the  Genoese  very  nearly  suc- 
ceeded in  dislodging  the  Venetians  from  Stamboul  alto- 
gether; They  took  possession  of  the  Venetian  churches 
and  destroyed  the  palace  of  the  Balio,  sending  its  stones 
to  Genoa  to  be  built  into  the  cathedral  of  San  Lorenzo. 
A  generation  later  they  provoked  a  massacre  of  the 
Venetians,  in  which  the  Balio  himself  was  killed;  and  the 


154       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

fleets  of  the  two  republics  more  than  once  came  to  blows 
in  the  Bosphorus.  In  the  meantime  Michael  Palaeologus 
had  given  the  Genoese,  partly  as  a  reward  for  their  ser- 
vices against  the  Venetians,  partly  to  get  rid  of  allies  so 
formidable,  the  town  of  Perinthos,  or  Eregh,  in  the  Mar- 
mora. About  1267,  however,  the  Genoese  succeeded  in 
obtaining  the  far  more  important  site  of  Galata.  The 
conditions  were  that  they  should  not  fortify  it,  and  that 
they  should  respect  the  emperor  as  their  suzerain.  But 
the  enmity  of  Venice  and  the  decadence  of  the  Greeks 
brought  it  about  that  Galata  presently  built  walls,  cap- 
tured the  old  castle  of  the  chain,  and  otherwise  conducted 
herself  as  an  independent  city.  The  existing  Galata 
Tower  marks  the  highest  point  of  the  walls,  which  were 
twice  enlarged,  and  which  in  their  greatest  extent  ran 
down  on  one  side  to  Azap  Kapou  and  on  the  other 
as  far  as  Top  Haneh.  The  colony  was  governed  by 
a  Podesta,  sent  every  year  from  Genoa,  who,  hke  the 
Venetian  Balio,  was  also  accredited  as  minister  to  the 
emperor. 

Galata  existed  as  a  flourishing  Genoese  city  for  nearly 
two  hundred  years.  The  coming  of  the  Turks  in  1453 
put  an  end  to  the  conditions  which  had  made  her  inde- 
pendence possible.  Although  cut  off  from  Genoa,  how- 
ever, she  did  not  immediately  cease  to  be  an  Itahan  city. 
Indeed,  the  Conqueror  might  have  been  expected  to  deal 
more  hardly  with  the  Latin  suburb  than  he  did;  for 
while  the  Galatiotes  had  entered  into  amicable  relations 
with  the  invaders  and  had  in  the  end  vohmtarily  sur- 
rendered, they  had  also  been  the  backbone  of  the  Greek 
defence.  But  in  accepting  the  keys  of  Galata  Sultan 
Mehmed  II  assured  the  colonists  the  enjoyment  of  their 
goods  and  their  faith,  merely  enjoining  them  to  buiki  no 
more  churches,  to  forego  the  use  of  befls,  and  to  throw 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COALMUNITY 


:?:> 


down  their  land  fortifications.     This  last  condition  seems 
never  to  have  been  carried  out. 


Genoese  archway  at  Azap  Kapou 


Under  the  new  regime  Galata  proceeded  to  reorganise 
herself  as  the  Magnifica  Communita  di  Pera.  The  head 
of  this  Magnificent  Community  was  a  magnifico,  prior  of 


156      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

the  Brotherhood  of  St.  Anne,  who  was  aided  by  a  sub- 
prior  and  twelve  councillors.  Their  deliberations  chiefly 
concerned  the  churches,  since  in  civil  affairs  they  were 
naturally  subject  to  the  Porte.  The  Rue  Voi'voda,  the 
Wall  Street  of  Galata,  perpetuates  the  title  of  the  Turkish 
functionary  who  was  the  superior  temporal  power  of  the 
Magnificent '  Community.  The  churches  diminished  in 
number,  however,  as  the  Latin  population  dwindled,  and 
by  1682  their  administration  had  passed  into  the  hands 
of  rehgious  orders,  or  of  the  Patriarchal  Vicar.  This 
dignitary  represented  that  member  of  the  papal  court 
whose  title  of  Patriarch  of  Constantinople  was  the  last 
shadow  of  the  Latin  occupation.  The  Patriarchal  Vicar 
has  now  been  succeeded  by  an  Apostolic  Delegate.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  ambassadors  of  the  Catholic  powers, 
and  particularly  of  France,  gradually  assumed  protec- 
tion of  the  Latin  colony  —  which  was  no  longer  distinc- 
tively Genoese  or  Venetian.  The  Magnificent  Com- 
munity, accordingly,  ceased  to  have  corporate  existence. 
But  the  Latin  "nation"  still  forms  one  of  the  constituent 
elements  of  the  Ottoman  empire.  And  while  the  popula- 
tion of  Galata  is  now  more  Greek,  even  more  Turkish  and 
Hebrew,  than  European,  it  is  only  within  a  generation 
or  two  that  French  has  begun  to  supersede  Itahan  as 
the  lingua  franca  of  the  town,  and  it  still  retains  an  inde- 
finable Italian  air. 

Of  that  old  Italian  town  modern  Galata  contains  little 
enough,  except  for  the  fanatic  in  things  of  other  times. 
The  Tower,  of  course,  the  whilom  Torre  del  Crista,  is  the 
most  visible  memorial  of  the  Genoese  period.  The  top, 
however,  has  been  repeatedly  remodelled.  This  great 
round  keep  was  built  in  1348,  during  the  first  enlargement 
of  the  walls,  which  originally  extended  no  farther  than 
the  Rue  Voi'voda.     The  Genoese  took  advantage  of  the 


THE   MAGNIFICENT   COMMUNITY        157 

absence  of  the  emperor  John  Cantacuzene  to  carry  out 
this  contravention  of  his  authority,  and  they  further 
secured  themselves  against  reprisals  by  burning  his  fleet. 
He  built  another  one  in  order  to  punish  his  so-called  vas- 
sals, but  they  defeated  it  and  trailed  the  emperor's  flag 
in  disgrace  through  the  Golden  Horn.  Galata  Tower  has 
now  degenerated  to  the  peaceful  uses  of  fire  watchers  and 
of  those  who  love  a  view,  the  small  square  at  its  base 
being  also  visited  ^once  a  year  by  a  Birnam  Wood  of 
Christmas-trees.  Of  the  fortifications  that  originally  ex- 
tended from  it  there  remains  here  only  a  reminiscence 
in  the  name  of  the  Rue  Hendek  —  Moat  Street.  The 
greater  part  of  the  walls  was  torn  down  in  1864,  the  in- 
scriptions and  coats  of  arms  they  contained  being  ulti- 
mately removed  to  the  imperial  museum.  Further  down 
the  hill  remnants  of  masonry  still  exist,  and  a  few  turrets. 
The  garden  of  the  monastery  of  S.  Pierre  is  bounded  by 
a  fragment  of  the  turreted  city  wall  of  1348,  while  in  the 
wall  of  S.  Benoit  is  another  turret,  probably  of  the  wall 
of  1352.  One  or  two  others  are  to  be  seen  along  the 
water-front  at  Yagh  Kapan.  The  most  picturesque  frag- 
ment of  all,  and  perhaps  the  oldest,  is  behind  the  bath 
of  Azap  Kapou,  where  a  little  Turkish  street  called  Akar 
Cheshmeh  —  the  Fountain  Drips  —  passes  through  an 
archway  in  a  high  walk  Above  the  arch  is  a  tablet  con- 
taining the  arms  of  Genoa  —  the  cross  of  St.  George  — 
between  the  escutcheons  of  the  two  noble  houses  of 
Doria  and  De  Merude*;  and  an  olive-tree  waves  banner- 
like from  the  top  of  the  wall. 

Galata  has  always  been  famous  for  its  fires,  to  say 
nothing  of  its  earthquakes.  These,  and  changes  of  pop- 
ulation, with  the  street-widening  and  rebuilding  of  our 

*  For  this  information  I  am  indebted  to  F.  \V.  Hasluck,  Esq.,  of   the 
British  School  at  Athens. 


158      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

day,  have  left  us  very  little  idea  of  the  architecture  of 
the  Genoese  colony.  In  the  steep  alleys  on  either  side  of 
the  Rue  Voifvoda  are  a  number  of  stone  buildings,  with 
corbelled  upper  stories  and  heavily  grated  windows,  which 
are  popularly  called  Genoese.  They  bear  too  close  a  re- 
semblance to  Turkish  structures  of  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries,  and  to  the  old  houses  of  the  Phanar, 
to  be  so  named  without  more  study  than  any  one  has 
taken  the  trouble  to  give  them.  But  they  are  certainly 
mediaeval  and  they  suggest  how  Galata  may  once  have 
looked.  The  facade  of  one  of  them,  in  the  Rue  Perchembe 
Bazaar,  is  decorated  with  a  Byzantine  marble  paneL 
This  was  the  fashionable  quarter  of  Genoese  Galata. 
The  palace  of  the  Podesta  was  there,  at  the  northeast 
corner  of  the  place  where  Perchembe  Bazaar  crosses 
Voivoda.  Indeed,  this  Ducal  Palace,  much  transformed, 
still  survives  as  an  office  building  and  rejoices  in  the 
name  of  Bereket  Han  —  the  House  of  Plenty. 

Such  slender  honours  of  antiquity  as  Galata  may 
boast  chister  chiefly  about  certain  churches  and  mis- 
sions. The  story  of  these  is  a  picturesque  chapter  in 
the  history  of  the  mediaeval  orders.  The  Franciscans 
were  the  first  to  come  to  Constantinople,  opening  a  mis- 
sion on  SeragKo  Point  in  12 19,  during  the  hfetime  of  St. 
Francis,  and  cstabhshing  themselves  in  Galata  as  early 
as  1227.  No  trace  of  them  now  remains  in  either  place, 
each  of  the  various  branches  into  w^hich  the  order  divided 
having  eventually  removed  to  Pera.  The  church  of  San 
Francesco  d'Assisi,  belonging  to  the  Conventuals,  was 
the  cathedral  of  the  colony,  and  one  worthy  of  Genoa  the 
Superb.  Partially  destroyed  by  fire  in  1696,  it  was  seized 
by  the  mother  of  Sultans  Moustafa  II  and  Ahmed  III, 
who  built  on  its  site  —  below  the  Imperial  Ottoman  Bank 
—  the   existing   Yeni   Vahdeh    mosque.     The   church    of 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COMMUNITY        159 

Sant'  Antonio,  on  the  Grande  Rue  de  Pera,  is  the  direct 
descendant  of  the  cathedral  of  San  Francesco  and  the 
missionaries  of  12 19. 

The  Dominicans  were  also  settled  at  an  early  date  on 
both  sides  of  the  Golden  Horn.  Arab  Jami,  the  mosque 
whose  campanile-Iike  minaret  is  so  conspicuous  from  the 
water,  was  formerly  their  church  of  San  Paolo.  Tradi- 
tion ascribes  its  foundation  to  St.  Hyacinth,  the  great 
Dominican  missionary  of  the  Levant.  The  fathers  were 
dispossessed  about  1535  in  favour  of  the  Moorish  refugees 
from  Spain,  who  also  invaded  the  surrounding  quarter. 
The  quarter  is  still  Mohammedan,  though  the  Albanian 
costume  now  gives  it  most  colour.  Refugees  of  a  less 
turbulent  character  had  come  from  Spain  a  few  years 
earlier  and  found  hospitahty  at  different  points  along 
the  Golden  Horn.  These  were  the  Jews  driven  out  by 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella  in  1492.  There  was  already  a 
considerable  colony  of  Jews  in  Constantinople.  Many  of 
them  had  been  Venetian  subjects  and  lived  on  the  edge 
of  the  Venetian  settlement,  at  the  point  where  the  mosque 
of  Yeni  Jami  now  stands.  When  the  great  sultana 
Kyossem  acquired  that  property  she  exempted  forty  of 
the  residents  from  taxation  for  Hfe  and  engaged  herself 
to  pay  the  Karaite  community  an  annual  ground  rent 
of  thirty-two  piastres.  This  was  a  considerable  sum  in 
1640,  but  it  now  amounts  to  little  more  than  a  dollar  a 
year!  The  sultana  furthermore  granted  the  Jews  new 
lands  at  the  place  called  Hass-kyoi  —  which  might  roughly 
be  translated  as  Village  of  the  Privy  Purse  —  and  a 
large  Jewish  colony  still  lives  there,  most  of  whose  mem- 
bers speak  a  corrupt  Spanish. 

As  for  the  Dominican  fathers,  they  took  refuge  in 
what  is  now  the  Mission  of  S.  Pierre.  The  building 
had  originally  been  a  convent  of  nuns  of  St.  Catherine 


i6o      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

and  gardens  were  added  to  it  by  a  generous  Venetian,  in 
whose  memory  a  mass  is  still  performed  onee  a  year. 
This  monastery  has  been  burned  and  remodelled  so 
many  times  that  little  can  be  left  of  its  original  appear- 
ance. Among  its  other  claims  to  interest,  however,  is 
a  Byzantine  icon  kept  in  the  church,  said  to  be  none 
other  than  that  celebrated  icon  of  the  Shower  of  the  Way 
which  I  have  already  mentioned.  The  latter  end  of  this 
venerable  work  of  art  is  involved  in  as  great  mystery  as 
its  origin.  According  to  the  Greeks  it  was  found  in 
Kahrieh  Jami  by  the  Turks  in  1453  and  cut  to  pieces. 
Whether  they  admit  the  icon  of  Kahrieh  Jami  to  have 
been  the  identical  icon  which  the  emperor  Baldwin 
presented  to  St.  Sophia  in  1204,  and  which  the  Venetian 
Balio  took  away  by  force  and  put  into  the  church  of 
Pantocrator,  now  Ze'irek  Kihsseh  Jami,  I  cannot  say. 
The  Latins,  however,  claim  that  the  Venetians  never 
lost  it,  and  that  consequently  it  was  never  cut  to  pieces 
by  the  Turks,  but  that  it  ultimately  came  into  posses- 
sion of  the  Dominican  fathers.  Where  doctors  of  divinity 
disagree  so  radically,  let  me  not  presume  to  utter  an 
opinion! 

In  the  court  of  the  church  and  on  the  facade  of  the 
monastery  towafd  the  Rue  Tchinar  —  the  Street  of  the 
Plane-Tree  —  are  stone  escutcheons  bearing  the  lilies 
of  France  and  the  arms  of  a  Comte  de  St.  Priest.  He  was 
a  French  ambassador  at  the  time  of  our  Revolutionary 
War.  The  building  being  under  French  protection  and 
on  the  central  street  of  old,  of  oldest  Galata  —  the  one 
which  climbs  past  the  palace  of  the  Podesta  from  the 
water's  edge  to  the  Tower  —  was  occupied  at  different 
times  by  the  notables  of  the  French  colony.  Among 
these,  about  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  was 
a  merchant  named  Louis  Chcnicr.     Settling  as  a  young 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COMMUNITY        i6i 

man  in  Galata,  he  had  become  deputy  of  the  nation  — ■ 
an  office  pecuHar  to  the  colony  from  the  time  of  Colbert 
—  right-hand-man  to  the  ambassador,  and  husband,  like 
many  a  European  before  and  after  him,  of  a  Levantine 
lady.  Her  family,  that  is,  were  of  European  —  in  this 
case  of  Spanish  —  origin,  but  by  long  residence  in  the 
Levant  and  by  intermarriage  with  Greeks  had  lost  their 
own  language.  The  seventh  child  of  this  couple  was 
Andre  Chenier,  the  j)oet  of  the  French  Revolution.  His 
birthplace  is  marked  by  a  marble  tablet.  The  poet 
never  saw  the  Street  of  the  Plane-Tree,  however,  after 
he  was  three  years  old.  He  grew  up  in  Paris,  where,  as 
every  one  knows,  he  was  almost  the  last  victim  of  the 
Terror. 

^  The  largest  mission  left  in  Galata  is  S.  Benoit,  whose 
walls  now  overshadow  the  least  monastic  quarter  of  the 
town.  Its  history  is  even  more  varied  than  that  of  S. 
Pierre,  having  been  occupied  and  reoccupied  at  different 
times  b}^  the  Benedictines,  the  Observants,  the  Capuchins, 
and  the  Jesuits.  The  last  were  the  longest  tenants,  carry- 
ing on  a  devoted  work  for  nearly  two  hundred  years. 
After  the  secularisation  of  their  order  in  1773  they  were 
succeeded  by  the  Lazarists,  who  have  not  fallen  behind 
in  the  high  traditions  of  the  mission.  The  place  has  a 
distinctly  mediaeval  air,  with  its  high  walls,  its  Gothic 
gateway,  and  its  machicolated  campanile.  Nothing  is 
left,  alas,  of  the  mosaics  which  used  to  decorate  the 
church.  After  so  many  fires  I  fear  there  is  no  chance  of 
their  being  discovered  under  modern  plaster.  But  the 
pillars  of  the  porch  are  doubtless  those  which  a  diplomatic 
father  obtained  by  gift  from  the  Shei'h  ul  Islam  in  1686. 
And  there  are  a  number  of  interesting  tablets  about  the 
building.  One  of  them  records  not  too  truthfully  the 
rebuilding  of  the  church  by  Louis  XIV.     The  most  nota- 


i6i      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

ble,  perhaps,  is  the  tombstone  of  Rakoczy,  Prince  of 
Transylvania  and  pretender  to  the  throne  of  Hungary, 
who  Hved  twenty  years  in  exile  at  Rodosto,  on  the  Sea 
of  Marmora.  When  he  died  there  in  1738  his  friends 
asked  permission  to  bury  him  in  Galata,  but  were  refused. 
They  accordingly  pretended  to  inter  him  at  Rodosto. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  his  coffin  was  sent  in  one  of  the  many 
boxes  containing  his  effects  to  S.  Benoit.  There  the 
royal  exile  was  secreth'  buried  in  the  church,  his  grave 
long  remaining  unmarked.  Another  grave,  all  mark  of 
which  seems  to  have  disappeared,  is  that  of  Jan  Van 
Alour,  a  Fleming  whom  Louis  XV  made  "peintre  ordi- 
naire du  roy  en  Levant."  He  had  the  good  fortune  to 
hve  in  Constantinople  during  the  brilhant  reign  of  Ahmed 
HI,  and  he  was  the  painter  who  started  in  France  the 
eighteenth-century  fashion  of  turquerie.  The  Museum 
of  Amsterdam  contains  a  large  collection  of  Turkish  docu- 
ments from  his  brush,  while  there  are  others  in  France 
and  in  the  castle  of  Biby  in  Sweden. 

The  stones  of  Galata  have  more  to  tell  than  those 
who  ungratefully  tread  them  are  w^ont  to  imagine.  But 
they  are  by  no  means  Christian  stones  alone.  Although 
the  Latins  naturally  diminished  in  number  after  the 
Turkish  conquest,  the  city  quickly  outgrew  its  walls. 
While  part  of  this  growth  was  due  to  the  influx  of  Vene- 
tians, and  later  of  Greeks,  from  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Horn,  a  good  deal  of  it  came  about  through  Turkish  col- 
onisation. This  was  chiefly  without  the  wafls.  You 
can  almost  trace  the  line  of  them  to-da}^  by  the  boundary 
between  populations.  The  Turkish  settlements  gathered 
around  mosques,  palaces,  and  miHtary  estabhshments 
built  by  different  sultans  in  the  country  about  Galata, 
mainly   on  the  water-front.     One  of  the  oldest  of  these 


THE   MAGNIFICENT   COMMUNITY        163 

settlements  grew  up  in  the  deep  ravine  just  west  of  the 
Galata  wall.  It  is  now  engaged  in  readjusting  its  rela- 
tions to  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  it  still  remains  hke 
a  piece  of  Stamboul,  and  it  is  the  home  of  many  dervishes. 
It  took  its  name  from  a  vizier  of  Suleiman  the  Magnificent, 
the  conqueror  of  Naupha  and  twice  governor  of  Egypt. 
He  was  known  as  Handsome  Kassim,  but  he  ended  his 
days  in  bad  odour.  His  quarter  is  supposed  to  take  after 
him  in  the  latter  rather  than  in  the  former  particular  by 
those  who  do  not  appreciate  w^hat  Kassim  Pasha  adds  to 
the  resources  of  Pera.  No  one,  however,  should  be  in- 
capable of  appreciating  what  the  cypresses  of  Kassim 
Pasha  do  for  the  windows  of  Pera.  They  are  all  that  is 
left  of  the  great  grove  of  the  Petits  Champs  des  Morts,  the 
old  burial-ground  of  Galata.  As  the  city  grew,  the  cem- 
eteries, both  Christian  and  Mohammedan,  were  removed 
to  the  Grands  Champs  des  Morts  at  the  Taxim.  They, 
too,  have  now  been  overtaken  by  the  streets  and  turned 
in  great  part  to  other  uses.  But  a  field  of  the  dead  was 
there  again  when  the  Young  Turks  took  Pera  from  Abd 
ill  Hamid  in  1909. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  mosque  of  Pialeh  Pasha 
and  the  naval  station  which  are  among  the  greater  lions 
of  the  left  bank.  A  detail  of  history  connected  with 
this  famous  shipyard  is -that  w^e  perhaps  get  our  word 
arsenal  from  it,  through  the  Itahan  darsena.  The  ac- 
cepted derivation  is  from  the  Arabic  dar  es  sanaat,  house 
of  construction,  from  an  ancient  shipyard  in  Egypt  cap- 
tured by  the  founder  of  this  ArsenaL  But  as  likely  an 
origin  is  the  Turkish  word  —  from  the  Persian,  I  believe 
—  terssaneh,  the  house  of  slaves.  At  all  events,  this  is 
where  the  great  bagnio  of  the  galley-slaves  used  to  be. 
These  were  Christians  captured  in  war;  and  of  course 
the  Christian  powers  repaid  the  compliment  by  captur- 


i64      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

ing  all  the  Turks  they  could  for  their  own  galleys.  At  all 
times  during  the  fifteenth,  sixteenth,  and  seventeenth 
centuries  there  were  from  three  to  four  thousand  slaves 
in  the  Arsenal,  while  several  thousand  more  were  chained 
to  the  oars  of  the  imperial  galleys.  No  less  than  fifteen 
thousand  were  said  to  have  been  freed  at  the  battle  of 
Lepanto.  As  the  Turks  became  less  warlike  the  number 
naturally  declined,  and  came  to  an  end  with  the  abolition 
of  slavery  in  1846.  One  of  the  principal  activities  of 
the  Catholic  missions  was  among  the  inmates  of  this  and 
other  bagnios.  The  fathers  were  allowed  access  to  the 
Arsenal  and  even  maintained  chapels  there,  confessing 
the  slaves,  arranging  when  they  could  for  their  ransom, 
and  heroically  caring  for  them  through  epidemics.  St. 
Joseph  of  Leonissa,  one  of  the  pioneer  Capuchins,  caught 
the  plague  himself  from  the  slaves  but  recovered  to  labour 
again  in  the  bagnio  —  so  zealously  that  he  even  aspired 
to  reach  the  ear  of  the  Sultan.  He  was  accordingly  ar- 
rested and  condemned  to  death.  The  sentence  was 
already  supposed  to  have  been  executed  when  he  was 
miraculously  rescued  by  an  angel  and  borne  away  to  his 
native  Italy,  living  there  to  a  ripe  old  age.  If  the  angel 
might  have  been  discovered  to  bear  some  resemblance 
to  the  Venetian  Balio,  his  intervention  doubtless  seemed 
no  less  angelic  to  the  good  missionary. 

Another  Turkish  settlement  grew  up  on  the  east 
side  of  Galata  wall  at  Top  Haneh,  Cannon  House.  The 
place  has  been  the  seat  of  artillery  works  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Turkish  era,  for  it  must  be  remembered  that 
Mehmcd  II,  in  the  siege  of  Constantinople,  was  the  first 
general  to  prove  the  practicability  of  cannon,  and  that 
during  the  whole  of  their  martial  period  the  Turks  had 
no  superiors  in  this  branch  of  warfare.  The  conqueror 
turned  a  church  and  its  adjoining  cloisters  into  a  foun- 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COMMUNITY        165 

dery,  and  his  son  Bai'ezid  II  built  barracks  there  for  the 
artillerymen,  while  Suleiman  I  and  Ahmed  III  restored 
and  added  to  these  constructions.  There  was  also  an- 
other shipyard  at  Top  Haneh,  and  another  Prince  of  the 
Sea  is  buried  there  near  the  mosque  he  built. 


The  mosque  of  Don  Quixote  and  the  fountain  of  Sultan 
Mahmoud  I 


I  know  not  how  it  is  that  this  mosque  has  so  miracu- 
lously escaped  notoriety.  The  exterior,  to  be  sure,  is  less 
imposing  than  the  neighbouring  Nousretieh  Jami,  but 
there  is  a  perfect  httle  stone  courtyard,  with  such  door- 
ways as  only  Sinan  knew  how  to  draw,  while  the 
interior   is    as    happy    in    proportion   as   it    is  in  detail. 


i66      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

The  mihrab  is  unusual  in  being  brightly  lighted,  and 
the  windows,  set  among  tiles,  contain  exquisite  frag- 
ments of  old  stained  glass.  There  are  also  tiled  in- 
scriptions, by  Hassan  Chelibi  of  Kara  Hissar,  above 
the  other  windows.  The  mimber,  too,  is  a  master- 
piece of  its  kind,  with  its  delicately  perforated  marbles. 
Then  the  gallery  contains  a  finely  designed  arcade  and 
an  interesting  marble  rail  and  small  rose  windows  — 
apparently  of  brickwork  — ■  above  the  spandrels  of  the 
arches.  A  characteristic  touch  is  the  big  ship's  lantern 
that  swings  in  front  of  the  mihrab.  This  beautiful 
mosque  was  built  by  an  Italian.  Born  in  Calabria  and 
captured  by  Algerian  pirates,  he  turned  Turk  after  four- 
teen years  in  the  galleys,  and  changed  his  name  of  OchiaH 
to  Oulouj  Ali  —  Big  Ali.  The  ex-galley-slave  then  be- 
came a  commander  of  galleys.  At  the  battle  of  Lepanto 
he  saved  a  shred  of  Turkish  honour  by  capturing  the 
flag-ship  of  the  Knights  of  Malta,  turning  the  squadron 
of  Doria,  and  bringing  forty  galleys  safely  back  to  Con- 
stantinople. For  this  exploit  he  was  made  high  admiral 
of  the  fleet  and  his  name  was  turned  into  Sword  Ah  — 
Kihj  Ah.  An  interesting  side-light  is  thrown  on  this 
picturesque  character  from  so  unexpected  a  source  as  the 
novel  of  "Don  Quixote."  In  chapter  XXXII  of  the 
first  part  of  that  book,  "in  which  the  captive  relates  his 
life  and  adventures,"  Cervantes  tells,  with  ver^^  little 
deviation  from  the  fact,  how  he  himself  lost  his  left  hand 
in  the  battle  of  Lepanto,  how  four  years  later  he  was 
captured  by  pirates  and  taken  to  Algiers,  and  how^  he 
hved  there  five  years  as  the  slave  of  a  cruel  Albanian 
master.  Trying  then  to  escape,  he  was  caught  and 
brought  for  trial  before  a  personage  whom  he  calls  UchaH, 
but  who  was  none  other  than  our  friend  Kilij  Ali.  The 
upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  the  builder  of  our  beautiful 


Interior  of  the  mosque  of  Don  Quixote 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COALMUNITY        169 


mosque  bought  the  author  of  our  immortal  novel,  whom 
he  treated  with  great  kindness,  and  presently  accepted 
for  him,  in  1581,  the  very  moderate  ransom  of  five  hun- 
dred crowns.  So  might  a  half-forgotten  building  in  Top 
Haneh  be  brought  back  to  light  as  the  mosque  of  Don 
Quixote! 

The  greatest  of  the  Princes  of  the  Sea  hes  farther  up 
the  Bosphorus,  at  Beshiktash.  The  name  is  a  corruption 
of  besh  tash,  five  stones,  from 
the  row  of  pillars  on  the  shore 
to  which  he  used  to  moor  his 
galleys.  Known  to  Europe  by 
the  nickname  Barbarossa, 
from  his  great  red  beard,  his 
true  name  was  Haireddin. 
Beginning  life  as  a  Greek 
pirate  of  Mitylene,  he  entered 
the  service  of  the  Sultan  of 
Tunis,  captured  Algiers  on 
his  own  account,  and  had  the 
diplomacy  to  offer  his  prize  to 
Sehm  I.  Under  Suleiman  the 
Magnificent  he  became  the 
terror  of  the  Mediterranean 
and  his  master's  chief  instru- 
ment in  a  hfelong  rivalry  with  Charles  V.  He  died  in 
1546,  full  of  years  and  honours,  leaving  a  fortune  of  sixty 
thousand  ducats  and  three  thousand  slaves.  He  wished 
to  be  buried  by  the  sea,  at  the  spot  where  he  moored  so 
often  in  his  lifetime;  but  shanties  and  boat  yards  now 
shut  him  off  from  the  water.  Nothing  could  be  quainter 
or  quieter  than  the  little  railed  garden  near  the  steamer 
landing,  where  a  vine-covered  pergola  leads  to  the  tiirbeh 
of  that  turbulent  man  of  blood.     His  green  admiral's  flag 


Drawn  by  Kenan  Bey 

The  admiral's  flag  of  Hair- 
eddin Barbarossa 


170      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

hangs  over  his  catafalque,  marked  in  white  with  inscrip- 
tions, with  an  open  hand,  and  with  the  double-bladed 
sword  that  was  the  emblem  of  his  dignity,  while  his  ad- 
miral's .  lanterns  hang  in  niches  on  either  side  of  the 
simple  mausoleum. 

The  harbour  of  Jason  and  Barbarossa  —  and  very 
likely  the  one  that  gave  access  to  the  Byzantine  suburb 
of  St.  Mamas  —  is  also  the  place  where  Sultan  Mehmed 
II  started  his  ships  on  their  overland  voyage.  At  least 
I  can  never  see  the  valley  of  Dohiia  Ba'hcheh  —  the 
Filled-in  Garden  —  into  which  the  sea  formerly  entered, 
without  convincing  myself  that  it  must  have  been  the 
channel  of  that  celebrated  cruise  and  not  the  steeper  hill 
of  Top  Haneh.  However  that  may  be,  the  descendants 
of  Mehmed  II  have  long  shown  a  partiality  for  the  neigh- 
bourhood. Ahmed  I  built  a  summer  palace  there  as 
long  ago  as  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Mehmed  IV,  Ahmed  III,  and  Mahmoud  I  constructed 
others,  while  for  the  last  hundred  years  the  sultans  have 
hved  there  altogether.  The  existing  palace  of  Dohiia 
Ba'hcheh,  which  occupies  most  of  the  old  harbour,  dates 
only  from  1853.  The  villas  of  Ytldiz  are  more  recent 
stilL  The  neighbourhood  of  majesty  has  done  less  for 
the  imperial  suburb  than  might  elsewhere  be  the  case. 
No  one  seems  to  find  anything  incongruous  in  the  fact 
that  one  of  the  Sultan's  nearest  neighbours  is  a  gas 
house.  The  ceremony  of  selamlik,  sakitation,  when  the 
Sultan  drives  in  state  to  mosque  on  Friday  noon,  is  the 
weekly  spectacle  of  Bcshiktash  —  though  less  dazzhng 
than  it  used  to  be.  After  his  prayer  the  Sultan  gives 
audience  to  ambassadors  and  visitors  of  mark.  I  know" 
not  whether  this  custom  goes  back  to  the  time  of  Albert 
de  Wyss,  ambassador  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  who 
used  to  turn  out  his  embassy  when  Selim  II  rode  by  to 


THE   MAGNIFICENT   COMMUNITY        i-i 

mosque,  or  to  that  of  the  later  Byzantine  emperors,  who 
received  every  Sunday  the  heads  of  the  Latin  com- 
munities. 

The  waterside  settlements  outside  the  walls  of  Galata 
were  and  are  prevaihngly  Turkish.  The  Christian  ex- 
pansion followed  the  crest  of  the  hill,  founding  the  mod- 
ern Pera.  But  there  is  a  leaven  of  Islam  even  in  Pera. 
Bai'ezid  II  built  a  mosque  in  the  quarter  of  Asmah  Mesjid 
■ —  Vine  Chapel  —  and  a  palace  at  Galata  Serai".  This 
palace  finally  became  a  school  for  the  imperial  pages, 
recruited  from  among  the  Christian  boys  captured  by 
the  Janissaries,  and  existed  intermittently  as  such  until 
it  was  turned  into  the  Imperial  Lyceum.  Galata  Serai 
means  Galata  Palace,  which  is  interesting  as  showing  the 
old  application  of  the  name.  The  word  Pera  the  Turks 
have  never  adopted.  They  call  the  place  Bey  O'lou  — 
the  Son  of  the  Bey.  There  is  dispute  as  to  the  identity 
of  this  Bey.  Some  say  he  was  David  Comnenus,  last 
emperor  of  Trebizond,  or  Demetrius  Palseologus,  despot 
of  Epirus  —  the  youngest  son  of  the  latter  of  whom,  at 
any  rate,  turned  Turk  and  was  given  lands  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Russian  embassy.  Others  identify  the  Son  of  the 
Bey  with  Alvise  Gritti,  natural  son  of  a  Doge  of  Venice, 
who  became  Dragoman  of  the  Porte  during  the  reign  of 
Suleiman  the  Magnificent,  and  exercised  much  influence 
in  the  foreign  relations  of  that  monarch.  Suleiman  him- 
self built  in  Pera,  or  on  that  steep  eastward  slope  of  it 
which  is  called  Findikh  —  the  Place  of  Filberts.  The 
view  from  the  terrace  of  the  mosque  he  erected  there  in 
memory  of  his  son  Jihangir  is  one  of  the  finest  in  Con- 
stantinople. It  was  his  father  Selim  I  who  estabhshed 
the  Mevlevi,  popularly  called  the  Whirhng  Dervishes,  in 
Pera.  There  they  remain  to  this  day,  though  they  have 
sold  the  greater  part  of  the  vast  estates  they  once  owned, 


172      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

a  little  island  of  peace  and  mysticism  in  the  unbelieving 
town  that  has  engulfed  them.  It  is  the  classic  amuse- 
ment of  tourists  on  Friday  afternoons  to  visit  their  tekkeh, 
and  a  classic  contrast  do  the  noise  and  smiles  of  the 
superior  children  of  the  West  make  with  the  plaintive 
piping,  the  silent  turning,  the  symbolism  and  ecstasy  of 
that  ritual  octagon.  Among  the  roses  and  ivy  of  the 
courtyard  is  buried  a  child  of  the  West  who  also  makes  a 
contrast  of  a  kind.  He  was  a  Frenchman,  the  Comte  de 
Bonneval,  who,  after  serving  in  the  French  and  Austrian 
armies  and  quarrelhng  with  the  redoubtable  Prince 
Eugene,  came  to  Constantinople,  became  general  of  bom- 
bardiers, governor  of  Karamania,  and  pasha  of  three  tails. 
He  negotiated  the  first  treaty  of  alhance  made  by-Turkey 
with  a  Western  country,  namely,  with  Sweden,  in  1740. 

There  are  many  other  Turkish  buildings  in  Pera,  but 
the  suburb  is  essentially  Christian  and  was  built  up 
by  the  Galatiotes.  It  began  to  exist  as  a  distinct  com- 
munity during  the  seventeenth  century  —  about  the 
time,  that  is,  when  the  Dutch  were  starting  the  city 
of  New  York.  The  French  and  Venetian  embassies 
and  the  Franci&can  missions  clustered  around  them  were 
the  nucleus  of  the  settlement  on  a  hillside  then  known 
as  The  Vineyards.  We  have  already  seen  how  the  Con- 
ventuals moved  to  Pera  after  the  loss  of  San  Francesco. 
Their  grounds  for  two  hundred  years  adjoined  those  of 
the  French  embassy,  but  have  gradually  been  absorbed 
by  the  latter  until  the  fathers  lately  built  on  another 
site.  The  first  Latin  church  in  Pera,  however,  was  S. 
Louis,  of  the  Capuchins,  who  have  been  chaplains  for 
the  French  embassy  since  1628.  Ste.  Marie  Draperis  is 
also  older  in  Pera  than  Sant'  Antonio.  The  church  is 
so  called   from  a  philanthropic  lady  who  gave  land  in 


THE   MAGNIFICENT   COMMUNITY        173 

Galata  to  the  Observants  in  1584.  It  passed  to  the 
Riformati  because  of  the  scandal  which  arose  through 
two  of  the  brothers  turning  Turk,  and  in  1678  moved 
to  The  Vineyards  for  the  same  reason  as  the  Conven- 
tuals. It  is  now  under  Austrian  protection  and  serves 
as  chapel  for  the  embassy  of  that  Power,  though  the 
fathers  are  still  Italians.  The  Observants,  also  known 
as  Padri  di  Terra  Santa,  preceded  them  by  a  few  years 
in  Pera,  where  they  acted  as  chaplains  for  the  Venetian 
Balio.  Their  hospice,  marked  by  the  cross  of  Jerusalem 
is  between  Ste.  Marie  and  the  Austrian  embassy. 

The  first  European  ambassadors  were  not  many  in 
number  nor  did  they  regularly  follow  each  other,  and 
they  were  usually  quartered  in  a  ban  detailed  for  that 
use  in  Stamboul,  facing  the  Burnt  Column.  The  Vene- 
tian Balio,  I  beheve,  always  had  a  residence  of  his  own. 
The  French,  however,  set  up  a  country-seat  at  The  Vine- 
yards as  early  as  the  time  of  Henri  IV.  And  during  the 
reign  of  Sultan  Ibrahim,  who  in  his  rage  at  the  Vene- 
tians over  the  Cretan  \\  ar  threatened  to  kill  every 
Christian  in  the  empire,  beginning  with  the  Balio,  the  am- 
bassadors moved  to  the  other  side  for  good.  The 
Venetians  occupied  the  site  since  pre-empted  by  the 
Austrians.  The  Austrian  embassy  was  originally  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Grande  Rue,  beside  the  now  disused 
church  of  the  Trinitarians,  while  the  Russian  embassy 
was  the  present  Russian  consulate.  The  existing  Rus- 
sian embassy  was  the  Polish  embassy.  The  Dutch  and 
the  Sw^edes  acquired  pleasant  properties  on  the  same 
slope.  All  these  big  gateways  and  gardens  opening  off 
the  Grande  Rue  give  colour  to  another  theory  for  the 
Turkish  name  of  Pera  —  that  it  was  originally  Bey  Yolou, 
or  the  Street  of  Grandees. 

The  British  embassy  is  by  no  means  so  young  a  mem- 


174      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

ber  of  this  venerable  diplomatic  colony  as  our  own,  but 
its  early  traditions  are  of  a  special  order.  They  are 
bound  up  with  the  history  of  the  Levant  Company. 
This  was  one  of  those  great  foreign  trading  associations 
of  which  the  East  India  Company  and  the  South  Sea 
Company  are,  perhaps,  more  famihar  examples.  Hak- 
luyt  tells  us  that  at  least  as  early  as  151 1  British  vessels 
were  trading  in  the  Levant,  and  that  this  trade  became 
more  active  about  1575.  In  1579  it  was  in  some  sort 
regularised  by  letters  which  were  exchanged  between 
Sultan  Mourad  III  and  Queen  Elizabeth — "most  wise 
governor  of  the  causes  and  affairs  of  the  people  and  family 
of  Nazareth,  cloud  of  most  pleasant  rain,  and  sweetest 
fountain  of  nobleness  and  virtue,"  as  her  imperial  corre- 
spondent addressed  her.  At  a  later  date  high-sounding 
epistles  also  passed  between  the  Virgin  Queen  and  her 
majesty  Safieh  —  otherwise  the  Pure  —  favourite  wife  of 
the  Grand  Turk,  who  wrote:  "I  send  your  majesty  so 
honourable  and  sweet  a  sakitation  of  peace  that  all  the 
flock  of  nightingales  with  their  melody  cannot  attain  to 
the  like,  much  less  this  simple  letter  of  mine."  The 
latter  lady  adds  a  touch  of  her  own  to  her  time,  having 
been  in  reality  a  Venetian,  of  the  house  of  Bafl^o.  While 
on  her  way  from- Venice  to  Corfu,  where  her  father  was 
governor,  she  was  kidnapped  by  Turkish  corsairs  and 
sent  as  a  present  to  the  young  prince  Mourad.  So  great 
became  her  influence  over  him  that  when  he  succeeded 
to  the  throne  she  had  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  politics 
of  the  Porte.  Another  royal  correspondent  of  the  Bafl^a, 
as  the  Balio  called  his  countrywoman  in  his  reports  to 
the  Council  of  Ten,  was  Catherine  de'  Medici.  In  the 
meantime  Queen  Elizabeth  had  already  issued,  in  1581, 
letters  patent  to  certain  London  merchants  to  trade  in 
the    Levant.      In     1582    the    first    ambassador,    Master 


THE   MAGNIFICENT   COMMUNITY        175 

William  Harbone,  or  Hareborne,  who  was  also  chief 
factor  of  the  Levant  Company,  betook  himself  and  his 
credentials  from  London  to  Constantinople  in  the  good 
ship  Susan.  The  charter  of  "the  Right  Worshipful  the 
Levant  Company"  was  revised  from  time  to  time,  but 
it  was  not  definitely  surrendered  until  1825.  And  until 
1 82 1  the  ambassador  to  the  "Grand  Signior,"  as  well  as 
the  consuls  in  the  Levant,  were  nominated  and  paid  by  the 
company.  It  was,  under  these  not  always  satisfactory 
conditions  that  Mr.  Wortley  Montagu  brought  his  lively 
Lady  Mary  to  the  court  of  Ahmed  III  in  1717.  Lord 
Elgin,  of  the  marbles,  was  the  first  ambassador  appointed 
by  the  government.  I  have  not  succeeded  in  gaining 
very  much  light  as  to  the  quarters  provided  by  the  Le- 
vant Company  for  its  distinguished  employees.  In  the 
Rue  de  Pologne  there  is  a  funny  little  stone  house,  now 
fallen,  I  believe,  to  the  light  uses  of  a  dancing-school, 
which  was  once  the  British  consulate.  The  present  em- 
bassy is  a  Victorian  structure  and  known  to  be  in  a  dif- 
ferent place  from  the  one  where  Lady  Mary  wrote  her 
letters. 

The  town  that  grew  up  around  these  embassies  is 
one  of  the  most  extraordinary  towns  in  creation.  First 
composed  of  a  few  Galatiotes  who  followed  their  several 
protectors  into  the  wilderness,  it  has  continued  ever 
since  to  receive  accretions  from  the  various  nationali- 
ties of  Europe  and  Asia  until  it  has  become  a  perfect 
babel,  faintly  Italian  in  appearance  but  actually  no 
more  Italian  than  Turkish,  no  more  Turkish  than  Greek, 
no  more  Greek  than  anything  else  you  please.  Half  a 
dozen  larger  worlds  and  nobody  knows  how  many  lesser 
ones  live  there,  inextricably  intermingled,  yet  somehow 
remaining  miraculously  distinct.  There  is,  to  be  sure, 
a  considerable  bodv  of  Levantines — of  those,  namely,  who 


176      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

have  mixed — but  even  they  are  a  pecuhar  people.  The 
fact  gives  Pera  society,  so  far  as  it  exists,  a  bewildering 
hydra-h^adedness.  The  court  is  not  the  centre  of  things 
in  the  sense  that  European  courts  are.  The  Palace  ladies 
do  not  receive,  and  it  is  an  unheard-of  thing  for  the  Sul- 
tan to  go  to  a  private  house,  while  in  other  ways  there 
are  profound'  causes  of  separation  between  the  ruhng 
race  and  the  non-Moslem  elements  of  the  empire.  By 
the  very  constitution  of  the  country  the  Armenians,  the 
Greeks,  the  Hebrews,  and  other  fractions  of  the  popu- 
lation form  communities  apart.  Even  the  surprisingly 
large  European  colony  has  historic  reasons  for  tending 
to  divide  into  so  many  "nations."  These  have  little 
in  common  with  the  foreign  colonies  of  Berlin,  Paris, 
or  Rome.  Not  students  and  people  of  leisure  but  mer- 
chants and  missionaries  make  up  the  better  part  of  the 
family  that  each  embassy  presides  over  in  a  sense  un- 
known in  Western  cities.  The  days  are  gone  by  when 
the  protection  of  the  embassies  had  the  literal  meaning 
that  once  attached  to  many  a  garden  wall.  But  the 
ambassadors  cHng  to  the  privileges  and  exemptions 
granted  them  by  early  treaties,  and  through  the  quar- 
ter that  grew  up  around  their  gates  the  Sultan  himself 
passes  almost  as  a  stranger. 

This  diversity  of  traditions  and  interests  has,  of 
course,  influenced  the  development  of  Pera.  Not  the 
least  remarkable  feature  of  this  remarkable  town  is  its 
lack  of  almost  every  modern  convenience.  I  must  ad- 
mit, of  course,  that  a  generation  before  New  York 
thought  of  a  subway  Pera  had  one  —  a  mile  long.  And 
it  is  now  installing  those  electric  facilities  which  Abd  iil 
Hamid  always  objected  to,  on  the  ground  that  a  dynamo 
must  have  something  to  do  with  dynamite.  But  it  will 
be  long  before  Pera,  which  with  its  neighbours  sprawls 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COMMUNITY        177 

over  as  much  ground  as  New  York,  will  really  take  in 
the  conception  of  rapid  transit,  or  even  the  more  primi- 
tive one  of  home  comfort.     I  hardly  need,  therefore,  go 
into  the  account  of  the  more  complicated  paraphernalia 
of  modern  life.     There  are  no  public  pleasure  or  sport- 
ing grounds  other  than  two  dusty  little  municipal  gar- 
dens, laid  out  in  old  cemeteries,  which  you  pay  to  enter. 
Pictures,  libraries,   collections  ancient  or  modern,  there 
are  none.     I  had  almost  said  there  is  neither  music  nor 
drama.     There  are,  to  be  sure,  a  few  modest  places  of 
assembly  where  excellent  companies  from  Athens  may 
be  heard,  where  a  visitor  from  the  Comedie  Frangaise 
occasionally  gives  half  a  dozen  performances,  and  where 
the  failures  of   European  music-halls  oftenest    air  their 
doubtful  charms.     On  these  boards  I  have  beheld  a  peri- 
patetic Aida  welcome  Rhadames  and  a  conquering  host 
of   five  Greek  supers;    but    Brunnhilde    and    the  Rhine 
maidens  have  yet  to  know  the  Bosphorus.     Not  so,  how- 
ever,   a    translated    "Tantc    de    Charles."     When    the 
"Merry    Widow"    first    tried    to    make    her    debut,   she 
met  with   an   unexpected   rebuff.     Every   inhabitant   of 
Pera  who  respects  himself  has  a  big  Croat  or  Montene- 
grin, who  are  the  same  rose  under  different  names,  to 
decorate  his  front  door  with  a  display  of  hanging  sleeves 
and  gold  embroidery.     It  having  been  w^hispered  among 
these  magnificent  creatures  that  the  "Lustige  Witwe" 
was  a  slander  on  the  principality  —  as  it  was  then  — 
of  Nicholas  I,  they  assembled  in  force  in  the  gallery  of 
the  theatre  and  proceeded  to  bombard  the  stage  with 
chairs  and  other  detachable  objects  until  the  company 
withdrew  the  piece. 

Consisting  of  an  accretion  of  villages,  containing  the 
conveniences  of  a  village,  Pera  keeps,  in  strange  contra- 
diction to  her  urban  dimensions,  the  air  of  a  village,  the 


178      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

separation  of  a  village  from  the  larger  world,  the  love  of 
a  village  for  gossip  and  the  credulity  of  a  village  in  rumour. 
This  is  partly  due,  of  course,  to  the  ingrained  belief  of 
the  Turks  that  it  is  not  well  for  people  to  know  exactly 
what  is  going  on.  The  papers  of  Pera  have  always  lived 
under  a  strict  censorship,  and  consequently  there  is 
nothing  too'  fantastic  for  Pera  to  repeat  or  believe. 
Hence  it  is  that  Pera  is  sniffed  at  by  those  who  should 
know  her  best,  while  the  tarriers  for  a  night  console 
themselves  with  imagining  that  there  is  nothing  to  see. 
I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  why  it  should  be 
thought  necessary  nowadays  for  one  town  to  be  exactly 
like  another.  I,  therefore,  applaud  Pera  for  having  the 
originality  to  be  herself.  And  within  her  walls  I  have 
learned  that  one  may  be  happy  even  without  steam- 
heat  and  telephones.  In  despite,  moreover,  of  the 
general  contempt  for  her  want  of  intellectual  resources, 
I  submit  that  merely  to  live  in  Pera  is  as  good  as  a  uni- 
versity. No  one  can  hope  to  entertain  relations  with 
the  good  people  of  that  municipality  without  speaking 
at  least  one  language  beside  his  own.  It  is  by  no  means 
uncommon  for  a  Perote  to  have  five  or  six  at  his  tongue's 
end.  Turkish  and  French  are  the  official  languages,  but 
Greek  is  more  cd'mmon  in  Pera  and  Galata  proper,  while 
you  must  have  acquaintance  with  two  or  three  alphabets 
more  if  you  wish  to  read  the  signs  in  the  streets  or  the 
daily  papers.  And  then  there  remain  an  indeterminate 
number  of  dialects  used  by  large  bodies  of  citizens. 

A  town  so  varied  in  its  discourse  is  not  less  liberal 
in  other  particulars.  Pera  observes  three  holy  da^s 
a  week:  Friday  for  the  Turks,  Saturday  for  the  Jews, 
Sunday  for  the  Christians.  How  many  holidays  she 
keeps  I  would  be  afraid  to  guess.  She  recognises  four 
separate  calendars.     Two  of  them,   the  Julian   and  the 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COMMUNITY        179 

Gregorian,  followed  by  Eastern  and  Western  Christians 
respectively,  are  practically  identical  save  that  they  are 
thirteen  days  apart.     There  are,  however,  three  Christ- 
mases  in  Pera,  because  the  Armenians  celebrate  Epiph- 
any (Old  Style);    and  sometimes  only  one  Easter.     As 
for  the  Jews,  they  adhere  to  their  ancient  hmar  calendar, 
which  is  supposed  to  start  from  the  creation  of  the  world. 
The  Turks  also  follow  a  hmar  calendar,   not  quite  the 
same,  which  makes,  their  anniversaries  fall  eleven  days 
earher  every  year.     Their  era  begins  with  the  Hegira. 
But  in   1789  Sehm   III   also  adopted  for  financial  pur- 
poses  an   adaptation   of  the  Juhan  calendar,   beginning 
on  the  first  of  March  and  not  retroactive  in  calculating 
earlier  dates.     Thus  the  Christian  year  19 14  is  5674  for 
the  Jews,  and  1332  or   1330  for  the  Turks.     There  are 
also  two  ways  of  counting  the  hours  of  Pera,  the  most 
popular  one  considering  twelve  o'clock  to  fall  at  sunset. 
These  independences  cause  less  confusion  than  might  be 
supposed.     They   interfere   very   little,    unless   with   the 
happiness  of  employers.     But  where  the  hberty  of  Pera 
runs  to  hcence  is  in  the  matter  of  post-offices.     Of  these 
there  are  no  less  than  seven,  for  in  addition  to  the  Turks 
the  six  powers  of  Europe  each  maintain  their  own.     They 
do  not  dehver  letters,  however,  and  to  be  certain  of  get- 
ting  all  your   mail  —  there   is   not  too   much   certainty 
even  then  —  you  must  go  or  send  every  day  to  every 
one  of  those  six  post-offices. 

For  those  branches  of  learning  of  which  Pera  is  so 
superior  a  mistress,  an  inimitable  hall  of  learning  is  her 
much-scoffed  Grande  Rue  —  "narrow  as  the  comprehen- 
sion of  its  inhabitants  and  long  as  the  tapeworm  of  their 
intrigues,"  as  the  learned  Von  Hammer  not  too  good- 
humouredly  wrote.  I  am  able  to  point  out  that  it  has 
broadened   considerably   since   his   day,   though    I    must 


i8o      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

add  that  it  is  longer  than  ever!  It  begins  under  an- 
other name  in  Galata,  in  a  long  flight  of  steps  from 
which  you  see  a  blue  slice  of  the  harbour  neatly  sur- 
mounted by  the  four  minarets  of  St.  Sophia.  It  mounts 
through  a  commerce  of  stalls  and  small  shops,  gaining 


Grande  Rue  de  Pera 


in  decorum  as  it  rises  in  altitude,  till  it  reaches  the  height 
which  was  the  heart  of  old  Pera.  Here  was  the  Stavro- 
thromo  of  the  Perotes,  where  the  Rue  Koumbaradji  — 
Bombardier  —  climbs  laboriously  out  of  Top  Haneh 
and  tumbles  down  from  the  other  side  of  the  Grande 
Rue  into  Kassim  Pasha.  The  Grande  Rue  now  attains 
its  climax  of  importance  much  farther  on,  between  Gal- 
ata Serai  and  Taxim,  whence,  keeping  ever  to  the  crest 
of  the  hill,  it  passes  out  into  the  country  hke  another 


THE   MAGNIFICENT   COMMUNITY        i8i 

Broadway  between  apartment-houses  and  vacant  lots. 
Other  Grandes  Rues  may  be  statelier,  or  more  bizarre  and 
sketchable.  This  Grande  Rue  must  have  been  more 
sketchable  in  the  time  of  Von  Hammer,  who  found  noth- 
ing picturesque  in  the  balconies  almost  meeting  across  the 


The  Little  Field  of  the  Dead 


street,  in  the  semi-oriental  costumes  of  the  Perotes  and 
the  high  clogs  in  which  they  clattered  about  the  town. 
But  even  now  the  Grande  Rue  is  by  no  means  barren  of 
possibihties  —  where  a  motor-car  will  turn  out  for  an  ox- 
cart or  a  sedan-chair,  and  where  pedestrians  are  stopped 
by  an  Anatohan  peasant  carrying  a  piano  on  his  back, 
by  a  flock  of  sheep  pattering  between  two  gaunt  Alba- 
nians, or  by  a  troop  of  firemen  hooting  half-naked  through 
the  street  with  a  gaudy  little  hand-pump  on  their  shoul- 


i82      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

ders.  There  are  any  number  of  other  types  that  only 
need  the  seeing  eye  and  the  revealing  pencil  which  Pera 
has  too  long  lacked.  And  few  Grandes  Rues  can  be  full 
of  contrasts  more  profound  than  meet  you  here  where 
East  and  West,  the  modern  and  the  mediaeval,  come  so 
strangely  together. 

There  arc  other  streets  in  Pera,  and  streets  that  are 
visibly  as  well  as  philosophically  picturesque.  There  is, 
for  instance,  that  noisome  shelf  which  ought  to  be  the 
pride  of  the  town,  overhanging  the  Little  Field  of  the 
Dead,  where  cypresses  make  a  tragic  foreground  to  the 
vista  of  the  Golden  Horn  and  far-away  Stamboul,  and 
where  crows  wheel  in  such  gusty  black  clouds  against 
red  sunsets.  There  are  also  the  heights  of  Findikh, 
from  which  you  catch  glimpses,  down  streets  as  steep  as 
Capri  and  Turkish  as  Eyoub,  of  the  kingdoms  of  the 
earth  and  the  glory  of  them.  But  for  the  sketchable, 
for  the  pre-eminently  etchable,  Galata  is  the  place  — ■ 
humble,  despised,  dirty,  abandoned  Galata,  with  its  out- 
lying suburbs.  If  the  Grande  Rue  de  Pera  is  Broadway, 
the  main  street  of  Galata  is  the  Bowery.  It  runs  along 
the  curve  of  the  shore  from  Azap  Kapou,  at  the  Arsenal 
wall,  to  the  outer  bridge  and  the  Bosphorus.  And  nobody 
knows  it,  but  som€  very  notable  architecture  adorns  this 
neglected  highway.  Besides  the  old  Genoese  Arab  Jami 
and  the  mosque  of  Don  Quixote,  there  is  at  Azap  Kapou 
another  masterpiece  of  Sinan,  a  lovely  little  mosque 
founded  by  the  great  Grand  Vizier  SokoIIl  Mehmcd 
Pasha.  At  Findikli,  too,  there  is  an  obscure  waterside 
mosque  whose  aspect  from  the  Bosphorus  is  admirable, 
set  as  it  is  among  boats  and  trees,  with  a  valley  cleaving 
the  hill  behind  it.  And  even  the  tall  Nousretieh  at  Top 
Hanch,  built  by  Sultan  Mahmoud  II,  has  its  points. 
These   points,    particularly   as   exemphfied   in   the   twin 


THE   MAGNIFICENT  COMMUNITY        183 

minarets,  are  an  inimitable  slimness  and  elegance.  And 
I  don't  care  if  the  great  door  opening  on  to  the 
parade-ground,  and  the  court  at  the  north,  are  rococo; 
they  are  charming.  There  are  also  two  or  three  of  the 
handsomest  fountains  in  all  Constantinople  on  this  long 


The  fountain  of  Azap  Kapou 


street  —  notably  the  big  marble  one  at  the  corner  of  this 
very  parade-ground,  by  Mahmoud  I,  and  the  one  of  his 
mother  at  Azap  Kapou.  The  same  princess  left  near 
Galata  Tower,  in  that  old  Grande  Rue  of  the  Genoese 
where  the  Podesta  lived  and  Andre  Chenier  was  born, 
a  wall  fountain  whose  lamentable  state  of  ruin  is  a  re- 
proach to  the  city  that  can  boast  such  a  treasure.  The 
entire  left  bank,  in  fact,  is  particularly  rich  in  these  in- 


1 84      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

teresting  monuments.  This  is  the  only  part  of  the  city 
for  which  the  sultans  installed  an  entirely  new  water- 
system. 

I  could  easily  pass  all  bounds  in  enumerating  the 
glories  of  Galata,  which  Murray's  guide-book  dismisses 
with  httle  more  than  a  remark  about  the  most  depraved 
population  in  Europe.  Of  depravity  I  am  not  connoisseur 
enough  to  pass  judgment  on  this  dictum.  I  can  only  say 
that  if  the  Galatiotes  are  the  worst  people  in  Europe, 
the  world  is  not  in  so  parlous  a  state  as  some  persons 
have  imagined.  I  presume  it  must  be  to  the  regions 
called  Kemer  AIti  —  Under  the  Arch  —  lying  between 
Step  Street  and  the  pious  walls  of  S.  Benoit,  that  the 
critic  refers.  Here  the  primrose  path  of  Galata  winds 
among  dark  and  dismal  alleys,  Neapohtan  save  for  the 
fezzes,  the  odour  of  mastic,  and  the  jinghng  lanterna,  the 
beloved  hand  piano  of  Galata.  Yet  even  here  simphcity 
would  be  a  truer  word  than  depravity.  Among  primrose 
paths  this  is  at  once  the  least  disguised  and  the  least 
seductive  which  I  have  happened  to  tread.  There  is  so 
Httle  mystery  about  it,  its  fantastic  inhabitants  make  so 
Httle  attempt  to  conceal  their  numerous  disadvantages, 
that  no  Ulysses  should  be  compeUed  to  stop  his  ears 
against  such  sirens. 

But  Galata  is  by  no  means  all  primrose  path.  Other, 
more  laborious  paths  abound  there,  of  drudgery  manifold 
but  chiefly  of  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 
The  tangle  of  narrow  streets  between  the  "Bowery"  and 
the  harbour  is  given  up  almost  entirely  to  sailors  and  wa- 
termen —  their  lodging,  their  outfitting,  and  their  amuse- 
ment. The  thickest  of  these  streets  in  local  colour  are  in 
the  purHeus  of  Pershcmbch  Bazaar-.  Pershembeh  Bazaar 
means  Thursday  Market,  and  Thursday  is  a  day  to  come 
here.     Then  awnings  shade  the  Httle  streets  around  Arab 


Fountain  near  Galata  Tower 


THE   MAGNIFICENT   COMMUNITY        187 

Jami,  and  venders  of  dreadful  Manchester  prints,  of 
astonishing  footwear,  of  sweets,  of  perfumes,  of  varie- 
cyated  sirdles,  leave  no  more  than  a  narrow  lane  for 
passers-by,  and  there  is  infinite  bargaining  from  sunrise 
to  sunset.     The  next  morning  there  w^II  be  not  a  sign  of 


The  Kabatash  breakwater 


all  this  commerce.  It  has  gone  elsewhere:  to  be  pre- 
cise, to  Kassim  Pasha.  On  Tuesdays  you  will  find  these 
peripatetic  merchants  near  Top  Haneh. 

If  the  Thursday  Market  goes,  the  rest  of  Galata  re- 
mains, and  the  best  of  it:  the  alleys  of  jutting  upper 
stories  that  know  so  w^ell  the  value  of  a  grape-vine,  the 
quaint  shops  and  coffee-houses,  the  cavernous  bakeries, 
the  place  of  broken  lights  where  the  oar  makers  ply  the 
local  variation  of  their  trade,  the  narrow  courtyard  where 


1 88      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

the  sailmakers  sit,  the  wharves  and  landings  of  the 
Golden  Horn,  the  quays  of  Top  Haneh,  the  breakwater 
of  Kabatash  —  which  is  at  its  best  in  a  south  wind  — 
and  all  that  enticing  region  called  Kalafat  Yeri,  the 
Place  of  Pitch,  where  from  time  immemorial  men  have 
built  boats  and  caulked  them,  and  fitted  them  out  with 
gear.  In  front  of  this  shore,  off  the  old  Galata  which 
the  Genoese  originally  walled  in,  lies  the  noble  mass  of 
shipping  of  which  I  have  already  spoken.  That  is  the 
supreme  resource  of  Galata,  and  one  which  is  hidden 
under  no  bushel,  waiting  patiently  to  make  the  fortune 
of  the  man  who  will  etch  it.  Where  were  Mr.  Murray's 
eyes  when  he  came  to  Galata?  Her  vices  would  hardly 
have  attracted  his  attention  if  he  had  taken  in  the  virtue 
of  her  contribution  to  the  pictorial. 


VI 

THE   CITY  OF  GOLD 

Under  this  designation,  gentle  reader  or  severe,  you 
probably  never  would  recognise  the  straggling  settlement 
of  wooden  houses,  set  ofF  by  a  few  minarets  and  shut  in 
from  the  southeast  by  a  great  black  curtain  of  cypresses, 
that  comes  down  to  the  Asiatic  shore  opposite  the  mouth 
of  the  Golden  Horn.  That  is  because  you  have  forgot- 
ten its  old  Greek  name,  and  mix  it  up  in  your  mind  with 
a  certain  notorious  town  in  Albania.  Moreover,  your 
guide-book  assures  you  that  a  day,  or  even  half  a  day, 
will  suffice  to  absorb  its  interest.  Believe  no  such  non- 
sense, however.  I  have  reason  to  know  what  I  am  talk- 
ing about,  for  I  have  spent  ten  of  the  best  years  of  my 
life  in  Scutari,  if  not  eleven,  and  have  not  yet  seen  all 
its  sights.  By  what  series  of  accidents  a  New  English 
infant,  whose  fathers  dwelt  somewhere  about  the  Five 
Towns  long  before  Mr.  Arnold  Bennett  or  even  Mr. 
Josiah  Wedgwood  thought  of  making  them  famous, 
came  to  see  the  light  in  this  Ultima  Thule  of  Asia,  I  hesi- 
tate to  explain.  I  tried  to  do  so  once  before  an  election 
board  in  that  sympathetic  district  of  New  York  known 
as  Hell's  Kitchen,  and  was  very  nearly  disfranchised  for 
my  pains.  Only  the  notorious  example  of  the  mayor, 
who  also  happened  to  be  born  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
Atlantic  and  who  nevertheless  had  reached  his  high  of- 
fice without  any  intermediate  naturalisation,  preserved 
to  me  the  sacred  right  of  the  ballot.     But  the  fact  gives 

189 


190      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

mc  the  right  to  speak  of  guide-books  as  cavalierly  as  I 
please. 

Yet  it  also  singularly  complicates,  I  find,  my  intention 
of  doing  something  to  draw  my  native  town  from  the 
obscurity  into  which  it  has  too  long  relapsed.  In  con- 
sidering its  various  claims  to  interest,  for  instance,  my 
first  impulse  is  to  count  among  them  a  certain  lordly 
member  of  the  race  of  stone-pines.  I  used  to  look  up  at 
it  with  a  kind  of  awe,  so  high  did  its  head  tower  above 
my  own  and  so  strangely  did  it  parley  with  the  moving 
air.  Our  heads  are  not  much  nearer  together  now;  but 
unaccountable  changes  have  taken  place  in  the  thatch  of 
mine,  while  the  pine  has  lost  none  of  the  thickness  and 
colour  that  delighted  me  long  ago.  I  suppose,  however, 
that  other  pines  are  equally  miraculous,  and  that  the 
pre-eminence  of  this  one  in  my  eyes  is  derived  from  the 
simple  fact  that  I  happened  to  be  born  in  sight  of  it.  I 
will  therefore  struggle  as  valiantly  as  I  may  against  the 
enormous  temptation  to  do  a  httic  Kenneth  Grahame  over 
again,  with  Oriental  variations.  For  the  rest,  there  must 
have  been  less  difference  between  a  Minor  Asiatic  infancy 
and  a  New  English  one  than  might  be  imagined.  It  was 
conducted,  for  the  most  part,  in  the  same  tongue.  It 
w^as  enlivened  by  the  same  games  and  playthings.  It  was 
embittered  by  the  same  books  and  pianos.  Its  society 
was  much  more  limited,  however,  and  it  was  passed,  for 
the  most  part,  behind  high  garden  walls,  to  adventure 
beyond  which,  without  governess  or  guardian  of  some 
sort,  was  anathema. 

I  could  easily  lose  myself  in  reminiscences  of  one  or 
two  Scutari  gardens.  In  fact,  I  can  only  save  myself  — 
and  the  reader  —  from  such  a  fate  by  making  up  my  mind 
to  write  a  separate  chapter  about  gardens  in  general. 
As  for  the  houses  that  went  with  the  gardens,  they  were 


THE   CITY  OF   GOLD 


191 


very  much  like  the  old  houses  of  Stamboul.  They  were 
all  halls  and  windows,  and  they  had  enormously  high 
ceilings,  so  that  in  winter  they  were  about  as  cosy  as 
the  street.  I  remember  one  of  them  with  pleasure  by 
reason  of  the  frescoes  that  adorned  it,  with  beautiful 
deer  in  them  and  birds  as  big 
as  the  deer  stalking  horizon- 
tally up  the  trunks  of  trees. 
Another  was  a  vast  tumble- 
down wooden  palace  of  which 
we  humbly  camped  out  in  one 
corner.  It  had  originally  be- 
longed to  an  Armenian  gran- 
dee who  rejoiced  in  the  name 
of  the  Son  of  the  Man  Who 
Was  Cooked.  The  Son  of  the 
Man  Who  Was  Cooked  had 
the  honour  to  be  a  friend  of 
the  Sultan  of  his  day,  who 
not  seldom  visited  him.  His 
majesty  used  to  come  at  all 
hours,  it  is  said,  and  some- 
times in  disguise.  This  was 
partly  because  the  Son  of 
the  Man  Who  Was  Cooked 
loved    to    go    loaded    with 

jewels,  as  the  legend  went,  and  the  Sultan  hoped  by 
finding  him  in  that  case  to  have  the  better  ground  for 
raising  loans.  But  it  is  also  whispered  that  other  reasons 
entered  into  the  matter,  and  that  on  the  men's  side  of 
the  house  a  secret  stair  was  built,  enabling  majesty  to 
circulate  in  the  house  without  attracting  too  much  at- 
tention. Certain  it  is  that  such  a  stair,  black  and 
breakneck,  existed,  for  my  room  was  at  the  top  of  it  — 


Fresco  in  an  old  house  in 
Scutari 


192      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

and  as  I  lay  in  bed  in  winter  I  could  look  out  through 
the  cracks  in  the  wall  and  see  the  snow  in  the  garden. 
But  I  never  wondered  then,  as  I  have  wondered  since, 
whether  the  legend  that  Abd  iil  Hamid  was  half  an 
Armenian  had  any  connection  with  our  house.  Another 
of  its  attractions  was  that  it  boasted  in  the  cellar  a 
bottomless  pit  — •  or  so  the  servants  used  to  assure  us. 

These  were  they  who  lent,  perhaps,  the  most  local 
colour  to  that  Alinor  Asiatic  youth.  They  were  daughters 
of  Armenia,  for  the  most  part.  And  I  sometimes  think 
that  if  William  Watson  had  enjoyed  my  opportunities 
he  never  would  have  written  "The  Purple  East."  Surely 
he  never  squirmed  under  an  Armenian  kiss,  which  in  my 
day  partook  both  of  sniffing  and  of  biting  and  which 
left  the  victim's  cheek  offensively  red  and  moist.  Yet 
how  can  I  remember  with  anything  but  gratitude  the 
kindly  neighbours  to  whom  foreign  children,  coming  and 
going  between  the  houses  that  in  those  distant  days  made 
a  small  Anglo-American  colony  in  upper  Scutari,  were 
always  a  source  of  interest?  For  some  mysterious  reason 
that  is  buried  in  the  heart  of  exiled  Anglo-Saxondom,  we 
really  knew  wonderfully  httle  about  our  neighbours. 
W'e  never  played  with  their  children  or  entered  other 
than  strangers  the  world  outside  our  garden  walk  Nor 
was  it  because  our  neighbours  were  unwilling  to  meet  us 
half-way.  They  paid  us  the  comphment  of  naming  a 
certain  place  of  amusement  which  existed  in  our  vicinity 
the  American  Theatre,  hoping  thereby  to  gain  our  pat- 
ronage. But  I  fear  this  hope  met  with  no  response. 
At  any  rate,  I  never  came  nearer  the  unknown  delights 
of  the  American  Theatre  than  the  top  of  our  garden  wall, 
from  which  I  remember  once  listening  entranced  to  such 
strains  of  music  as  never  issued  from  our  serious  piano. 
I  recognised  them  years  afterward,  with  a  jump,  in  an 


THE   CITY  OF  GOLD  193 

opera  of  Suppe.  I  have  also  lived  to  learn  that  Scutari, 
or  the  part  of  it  where  we  lived,  is  a  sort  of  Armenian 
Parnassus,  perhaps  even  an  Armenian  Montmartre, 
given  over  entirely  to  the  muses.  Emancipated  Armenian 
ladies,  they  tell  me,  do  such  unheard-of  things  as  to  walk, 
on  their  own  two  feet,  vast  distances  over  the  hills  of 
Asia  with  emancipated  Armenian  gentlemen  in  long 
locks  and  flowing  neckties;  and  imperishable  Armenian 
odes  have  celebrated  the  beauties  of  Baghlar  Bashi  and 
Selamsiz. 

Nevertheless,  we  did  not  suff'er  the  consequences  of 
our  aloofness.  Between  our  garden  and  another  one,  to 
which  we  were  in  time  allowed  to  go  alone,  there  existed, 
unbeknownst  to  our  elders,  certain  post  stations,  as  it 
were,  where  a  wayfarer  might  stop  for  rest  and  re- 
freshment. Out  of  one  barred  window  a  lady  always 
passed  me  a  glass  of  water.  She  rather  reminded  me  of 
some  docile  overgrown  animal  in  a  cage.  Indeed  I  am 
not  sure  she  could  have  got  out  if  she  tried  —  which  ap- 
parently she  never  did  —  for  she  was  of  immeasurable 
proportions.  I  thought  of  her  when  I  later  came  to  read 
of  a  certain  Palace  lady  pet-named  Little  Elephant,  who 
built  a  mosque  in  Scutari.  I  know  not  whether  this  was 
the  same  whom  a  Sultan,  having  sent  messengers  to  the 
four  quarters  of  the  empire  in  search  of  the  fattest  beauty 
imaginable,  found  in  my  native  town,  almost  under  his 
palace  windows,  and  led  away  in  triumph.  As  George 
Ade  has  told  us,  sKm  princesses  used  not  to  be  the  fashion 
in  Turkey.  From  another  window,  higher  above  the 
street,  attentions  of  another  sort  used  to  be  showered 
on  us  by  an  old  gentleman  who  never  seemed  to  dress. 
He  was  always  sitting  there  in  a  loose  white  gown,  as  if 
he  had  just  got  up  or  were  just  going  to  bed,  and  he 
would  toss  us  down  pinks  or  chrysanthemums,  accordmg 


194      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

to  the  season.  But  the  person  most  popular  with  us 
was  a  little  old  woman  who  Hved  in  a  house  so  old  and 
so  Httle  that  I  blush  when  I  remember  how  greedy  I 
used  to  be  at  her  expense.  She  used  to  reach  out  be- 
tween the  bars  of  her  window  spoonfuls  of  the  most 
heavenly  preserve  I  have  ever  tasted,  thick  and  white 
and  faintly  flavoured  with  lemon.  So  distinguished  a 
sweetmeat  could  only  possess  so  distinguished  a  name  as 
bergamot. 

Returning  to  Scutari  long  afterward,  it  came  upon  me 
with  a  certain  surprise  that  no  one  offered  me  sweets  or 
flowers,  or  even  a  glass  of  water.  My  case  was  oddly 
put  to  me  by  a  man  like  one  of  Shakespeare's  fools,  who 
perhaps  should  not  have  been  at  large  but  who  asked 
himself  aloud  when  he  met  me  at  a  mosque  gate:  **I 
wonder  what  he  is  looking  for  —  his  country?"  If 
Scutari  tempts  me  to  do  Kenneth  Grahame  over  again, 
it  also  tempts  me  to  do  Dr.  Hale  over  again,  to  whose 
famous  hero  I  could  give  other  points  than  that  of  the 
election  board  in  Hefl's  Kitchen.  The  enduring  taunt  of 
my  school-days  was  that  I  never  could  be  President,  and 
it  was  a  bitter  blow  to  me  when  I  learned  that  my  name 
could  never  be  carved  in  the  Hall  of  Fame  above  the 
Hudson.  Yet  when  I  went  back  to  Scutari,  as  a  man 
will  go  back  to  the  home  of  his  youth,  the  inhabitants 
were  so  far  from  recognising  me  as  one  of  themselves 
that  the  thought  occurred  to  me  how  amusingly  hke  life 
it  would  be  if  I,  who  am  not  notable  for  the  orthodoxy  of 
my  opinions,  were  massacred  for  a  Christian  in  the  town 
where  I  was  born!  Nevertheless  I  have  discovered  with 
a  good  deal  of  surprise,  in  the  room  of  the  vanished 
Scutari  I  used  to  know,  a  Scutari  that  I  never  saw  or 
heard  of  when  I  was  young  —  I  speak,  of  course,  to  the 
race  of  men  that  likes   Stamboul  —  a  place  of  bound- 


THE   CITY  OF   GOLD  195 

less    resources,    of   priceless    possibilities  —  a   true    City 
of  Gold. 

The  favourite  story  is  that  Chrysopolis  was  so  called 
because  of  the  Persian  satraps  who  once  lived  there  and 
heaped  up  the  gold  of  tribute.     Others  have  it,  and  I 
hke  their  theory  better,  that  the  city  took  its  name  from 
Chryses,  son  of  Chryseis  and  Agamemnon,  who,  fleeing 
after  the  fall  of  Troy  from  /Egisthus  and  Clytemnestra, 
met   there   his    end.     A    few   poetic-minded    individuals 
have  found  an  origin  for  the  word  in  the  appearance  the 
town  presents  from  Constantinople  at  sunset  with  all  its 
panes  on  fire.     I  don't  know  that  the  idea  is  more  far- 
fetched than  any  other.     An  equal  variety  of  opinion 
prevails  with  regard  to  the  modern  name.     Certain  au- 
thorities claim  that  it  is  a  corruption  of  Uskudar,  used 
by  the  Turks,  which  is  from  a  Persian  word  meaning  a 
post  messenger.     For  myself,  I  am  feebly  impressed  by 
all  these  Persians,  who  seem  to  me  dragged  in  by  the 
ears.     A  Turkish  savant  told  me  once  that  he  believed 
Uskudar  to  be  a  corruption  of  an  old  Armenian  name, 
Oskitar   or  Voskitar,   which   is   merely   a  translation   of 
Chrysopolis.     When    Mehmed    II    captured    Constanti- 
nople he  brought  a  great  many  Armenians  into  it,   to 
repopulate  the  city  and  to  offset  the  Greeks;    and  the 
richest  of  them,  who  came  from  Broussa,  he  settled  in 
Scutari,  which  has  always  retained  a  certain  Armenian 
tinge.     I    learn    that    in    ancient    Armenian    some    such 
word  could  have  been  made  out  of  Chrysopolis.     But  the 
name  Scutari  is  much  older  than  the  Turkish  conquest. 
Villehardouin  and  at  least  one  Byzantine  historian  speak 
of  the  palace  of  Scutari,  on  the  promontory  that  juts  out 
toward  Seraglio  Point.     Also,  I  seem  to  remember  read- 
ing in  Gibbon  of  a  corps  of  scutarii  who  had  their  barracks 


196      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

on  that  side  of  the  strait.  I  have  never  been  able  to 
lay  my  hand  on  those  scutarii  again,  and  so  cannot  found 
very  much  of  an  argument  upon  them.  Any  Latin  lexi- 
con, however,  will  give  you  the  word  scutarius,  a  shield- 
bearer,  and  tell  you  that  a  corps  of  them  existed  under 
the  later  empire.  Wherefore  I  formally  reject  and  con- 
temn Murray,  Von  Hammer  and  Company,  with  their 
Persian  postboys,  and  take  my  stand  on  those  Roman 
shields.  In  all  probabiKty  the  name  spread,  as  in  the 
case  of  Galata,  from  a  barracks  or  a  palace  to  the  entire 
locahty,  and  Uskiidar  must  be  a  Turkish  attempt  to 
pronounce  the  Greek  ^Kovrdpiov. 

Of  that  oldest  Scutari  I  did  not  set  out  to  write  an 
account,  but  it  is  convenient  that  the  visitor  should  be 
aware  of  how  ancient  and  honourable  a  town  he  is  tread- 
ing the  streets.  I  fmd  it  a  little  difficult  to  write  co- 
herently, however,  for  two  ancient  and  honourable  towns 
are  there.  The  second  one,  lying  next  to  the  south  and 
facing  the  Marmora  instead  of  the  Bosphorus,  is  the 
more  ancient,  and  I  suppose  in  the  eyes  of  the  w^orld  the 
more  honourable.  Chalccdon  was  its  name  —  derived, 
by  one  report,  from  the  Homeric  soothsayer  Chalkas  — 
and  it  is  represented  to-day  by  the  suburbs  of  Ha'idar 
Pasha,  Kadi  Kyai,  and  Moda.  The  history  of  these  ad- 
joining quarters  is  so  intertwined  that  it  is  sometimes 
hard  to  distinguish  between  Chalccdon  and  Chrysopohs. 
Chalcedon,  hke  Byzantium,  was  founded  by  colonists 
from  Megara,  but  a  few  years  earher.  Its  greater  accessi- 
bility and  hospitahty  to  ships  and  the  flatness  of  its 
site  gave  it  advantages  which  Chrysopolis  did  not  pos- 
sess. Chrysopohs,  on  the  other  hand,  nearer  Byzantium 
and  commanding  the  mouth  of  the -Bosphorus,  occupied 
the  more  strategic  position  with  regard  to  the  traffic  of 
the  strait.     Both  cities  suffered  greatly  during  the  Persian 


THE   CITY  OF   GOLD  197 

wars,  and  were  for  a  time  ruled  b}'  the  satraps  of  Darius. 
The  Athenians  seized  them  early  in  the  history  of  their 
league,  in  order  to  levy  tolls  on  passing  ships.  So  early 
arose  the  vexed  question  of  the  straits.  Philip  of  Macedon 
included  the  two  cities  in  his  siege  of  Byzantium,  but  was 
driven  away  by  the  Athenians.  Xenophon  stopped  a 
week  in  Chrysopolis  on  his  way  back  from  Persia.  Hanni- 
bal ended  his  troubled  days  in  a  suburb  of  Chalcedon. 
Nicomedes  HI  of  Bithynia  left  that  town  in  his  will  to 
the  Romans,  who  Tought  over  it  with  Mithridates  of 
Pontus.  The  Goths  ravaged  it  on  the  occasion  of  their 
first  raid  into  Asia  Minor.  The  fate  of  the  Roman  world 
was  settled  on  the  heights  of  Chrysopolis  in  324,  when 
that  other  man  without  a  country,  Constantinc  of  York, 
vanquished  his  last  rival,  Licinius,  and  took  him  prisoner. 
Tfie  experiences  and  associations  of  that  victory  must 
have  had  much  to  do  with  the  transfer  of  the  capital  from 
the  Tiber  to  the  Bosphorus.  From  that  time  onward 
the  two  Asiatic  cities  lost  something  in  importance  but 
gained  in  peace  —  though  Persians,  Saracens,  and  Turks 
later  troubled  them  again.  The  fourth  Ecumenical 
Council  sat  in  Chalcedon  in  451,  in  that  church  of  St. 
Euphemia  which  had  been  a  temple  of  Venus.  The 
famous  oracle  of  Apollo  Constantinc  destroyed,  using  its 
marbles  for  his  own  constructions  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  strait.  From  ChrysopoUs  he  also  took  a  cele- 
brated statue  of  Alexander  the  Great.  His  example  was 
followed  by  the  emperor  Valens,  who  utihsed  the  walls 
of  Chalcedon  as  a  quarry  for  the  aqueduct  that  still 
strides  across  a  valley  of  StambouL  And  even  Sulei- 
man the  Magnificent  was  able  to  find  materials  for  his 
greatest  mosque  in  the  ruins  of  the  church  of  St.  Eu- 
phemia and  of  the  palace  of  Behsarius. 

To-day  a  few  sculptured  capitals  remain  above  ground 


198      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

in  Scutari,  and  every  now  and  then  some  one  in  Kadi 
Kyoi  digs  up  in  his  garden  a  terra-cotta  figurine.  Other- 
wise there  is  nothing  left  to  remind  you  of  the  antique 
cities  that  sat  in  front  of  Byzantium.  They  have  dis- 
appeared as  completely  as  the  quaint  little  Scutari  of  my 
j^outh.  But  two  settlements  still  remain  there,  and  still 
different,  although  so  long  united  under  one  destiny. 
When  projected  trolley-cars  and  motor  roads  come  into 
being,  as  they  are  destined  shortly  to  do,  I  fancy  that  this 
separation  will  become  less  and  less  marked.  For  the 
time  being,  however,  Scutari  and  Kadi  Kyoi  might  be 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  Bosphorus.  Kadi  Kyoi,  with  its 
warmer  winds,  its  smoother  lands,  its  better  harbours, 
its  trim  yachts,  its  affluent-looking  villas,  its  international 
Bagdadbahn,  has  acquired  a  good  deal  of  the  outward 
appearance  of  Europe.  Whereas  Scutari  remains  Asi- 
atic and  old-fashioned.  It  is  very  much  what  it  was 
before  Bagdad  railways,  when  the  caravans  of  the  East 
marched  through  its  narrow  streets,  when  the  Janissaries 
pounded  their  kettledrums  in  the  square  of  Doghanjiler 

—  the  Falconers.  And  it  contains  ahnost  all  that  is  to 
be  seen  in  the  two  towns  of  interest  to  the  comer  from 
afar. 

The  great  sight  of  Scutari,  after  all,  is  Scutari  itself 

—  which  very  few  people  ever  seem  to  have  noticed. 
In  front  of  it  opens,  somewhat  north  of  west,  a  nick  in 
the  shore  known  as  the  Great  Harbour.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  it  is  very  little  of  a  harbour,  whose  inner  waters  are 
barely  safe  from  the  swirl  of  the  Bosphorus  as  it  begins 
to  squeeze  past  Seraglio  Point.  The  front  door  of  Scu- 
tari is  here,  however,  and  one  altogether  worthy  of  the 
City  of  Gold.  Seen  from  the  water  it  is  admirably  bor- 
dered with  boats  and  boat-houses,  being  no  less  admi- 


THE   CITY  OF   GOLD 


199 


rably  overlooked  by  minarets  and  hanging  gardens  and 
climbing  roofs  and  the  dark  overtopping  wall  of  the 
great  cemetery,  while  nearer  acquaintance  proves  it  to 
be  amply  provided  with  local  colour  in  the  way  of  plane- 
trees,  fountains,  and  coffee-houses  galore.     The  heart  of 


The  Street  of  the  Falconers 


the  town  lies  in  an  irregular  amphitheatre  which  twists 
back  from  the  Great  Harbour.  Into  the  floor  of  the 
amphitheatre  project  half  a  dozen  buttresses  of  an  upper 
gallery,  and  through  the  long  narrow  corridors  between 
them  streets  climb,  sometimes  by  steps,  to  the  cypresses 
and  their  amply  sweeping  terrace.  In  this  scene,  if  you 
like,  a  lesser  Stamboul  is  set.  It  has  its  old  houses,  its 
vines,  its  fountains,  its  windows  of  grille  work,  its  mosque 
vards,  its  markets,  its  covered  bazaar,  even  its  own  edi- 


200      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

tion  of  the  Sacred  Caravan  and  the  Persian  solemnity 
of  Mouharrem.  But  it  has  an  air  of  its  own,  as  the 
storks  will  tell  you  who  nest  near  the  flower  market.  It 
does  not  imitate,  it  complements  Stamboul.  And  it  con- 
tains monuments  so  remarkable  that  I  am  constantly 
amazed  and  scandalised  to  find  out  how  Kttle  people 
know  about  them. 

Four  mosques  in  particular  arc  the  pride  and  jewels 
of  my  native  town.  They  w^ere  all  erected  by  princesses 
—  the  two  oldest  after  the  designs  of  Sinan.  The  earliest 
one,  dating  from  1547,  is  the  first  you  see  when  you  come 
to  Scutari.  It  stands,  like  the  mosque  of  Riistem  Pasha, 
on  a  terrace  above  the  hum  of  the  landing  stage.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  it  was  built  by  the  wife  of  Riistem  Pasha, 
who  was  also  the  daughter  of  Stileiman  the  Magnificent 
and  Roxelana.  Mihrimah,  this  lady  was  called,  which 
means  Moon  and  Sun.  Her  mosque  is  named  after  her, 
though  it  is  also  called  the  Great  Mosque  and  the  Mosque 
of  the  Pitcher  —  for  what  reason  I  have  yet  to  penetrate. 
It  is  a  little  stiff  and  severe,  to  my  way  of  thinking.  The 
minarets  have  not  the  spring  that  Sinan  afterward 
learned  to  evoke,  and  the  interior  is  rather  bare.  Per- 
haps it  has  been  pillaged.  But  the  courtyard,  looking 
out  through  trees  to  the  Bosphorus,  is  a  delightful  spot, 
and  it  contains  one  of  the  most  admirable  mosque  foun- 
tains I  know.  There  are  also  other  fountains  in  the 
court,  and  an  old  sun-dial,  too  overgrown  by  leaves  to  do 
its  work,  and  a  mouvakit  haneh.  When  I  was  speaking 
of  mosque  yards  in  general  I  did  not  mention  this  insti- 
tution. It  may  seem  to  us  that  people  who  count  twelve 
o'clock  at  sunset  cannot  pay  much  attention  to  the  sci- 
ence of  time  keeping.  But  the  exact  hours  of  prayer,  like 
the  exact  direction  of  Mecca,  are  very  important  matters 
for  Mohammedans.     The  Arabs,  I  believe,  were  the  first 


THE   CITY  OF   GOLD 


201 


inventors  of  clocks.  At  all  events,  the  first  clock  seen  in 
Europe  was  a  present  to  Charlemagne  from  Haroun  al 
Rashid.  A  clock  is  an  essential  part  of  the  furniture  of 
every  mosque.     Haroun  al  Rashid  is  a  long  time  dead. 


Fountain  in  the  mosque  yard  of  Mihrimah 


however,  and  most  of  the  clocks  seen  to-day  were  made 
in  England.  Mosques  of  any  size,  nevertheless,  have 
their  own  corps  of  timekeepers,  who  do  their  work  in 
a  pavilion  called  the  mouvakit  haneh  —  the  house  of  time 
—  and  incidentally  repair  the  watches  of  the  neighbour- 


202       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

hood.     Some  of  them  also  take  solar  observations  with 
instruments  that  were  made  for  a  museum. 

Next  in  chronological  order  is  the  mosque  of  the 
Valideh  Atik  —  which  might  be  translated  as  the  Old  or, 
more  politely,  as  the  Wise  Mother.  It  is  more  popularly 
known  as  Top  Tashi,  or  Cannon  Stone.  In  a  steep  street 
near  the  mosque  lies  a  big  stone  cannon-ball  from  which 
the  quarter  may  take  its  name.  However,  the  Wise 
Mother  was  a  certain  Nour  Banou,  Lady  of  Light,  who 
lies  buried  beside  her  husband.  Sultan  Selim  II,  in  the 
courtyard  of  St.  Sophia.  Her  mosque  stands  on  the 
second  story  of  Scutari,  and  its  two  minarets  and  con- 
trasting cypresses,  with  their  encompassing  arcade  and 
massive-walled  dependencies,  make  the  most  imposing 
architectural  group  in  the  town.  The  mosque  has  re- 
cently undergone  a  thorough  restoration,  which  is  rarely 
a  very  happy  proceeding.  Luckily  the  restorers  left  the 
painted  wooden  ceilings  that  decorate  the  under-side  of 
the  gallery  —  or  so  much  of  them  as  had  not  been  painted 
out  before.  There  is  also  an  elaborately  perforated  mar- 
ble mimber,  whose  two  flags  would  seem  to  indicate  that 
a  church  once  stood  here.  But  what  is  best  is  the  tiled 
recess  of  the  mihrah.  The  tile  makers  of  Nicsea  had  evi- 
dently not  begun  to  lose  their  cunning  in  the  day  of  the 
Lady  of  Light  —  unless  she  borrowed  from  some  other 
place.  In  any  case,  the  two  panels  at  right  angles  to  the 
mihrab  are  so  high  an  ornament  of  my  native  town  that 
Scutari  deserves  to  be  celebrated  for  them  alone.  They 
seem  to  me  to  rank  among  the  finest  tiles  in  Constanti- 
nople, though  Murray  passes  them  by  without  a  word. 
In  Turkish  eyes  this  mosque  has  a  further  interest  as 
being  one  of  the  spots  known  to"  have  been  visited  by 
Hidir  or  Hizir,  lord  of  the  Fountain  of  Life.  In  the 
porch  of  the  mosque  hangs  an  ilkiminated  manuscript 


THE   CITY  OF   GOLD 


203 


commemorating  this  illustrious  visit,  and  near  it  are 
three  holes  by  which  Hizir  is  supposed  to  have  moved 
the  mosque  in  token  of  his  presence. 


■Bjjj^|^;<^^^ 


Tiles  in  the  mosque  of  the  Vahdeh  Atik 


The  third  princess  to  build  in  Scutari  was  one  whose 
acquaintance  we  have  already  made,  the  great  valideh 
Kyossem.  Her  mosque  also  stands  on  the  upper  terrace, 
at  the   head   of    the   long  corridor   known    as   Chaoush 


204      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

Deresi.  The  Turks  call  it  Chinili  Jami,  which  really 
means  the  China  Mosque.  It  is  a  tiled  mosque,  much 
smaller   than    Riistem    Pasha,    faced   on   the   inside   and 


Chinili  Jami 


along  the  porch  with  bkie  and  white  tiles  of  not  so  good 
a  period.  Between  1582,  when  the  Lady  of  Light  tiled 
her  mihrah,  and  1643  something  had  evidently  happened 
in  Nicaia.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  believe  the  tiles  came 


THE  CITY  OF   GOLD 


205 


from  Kutahya.  Nevertheless  the  mosque  is  charming, 
there  is  the  quaintest  pagoda-like  fountain  in  one  corner 
of  the  court,  and  the  main  gate  of  the  yard  composes 
with  the  fountain  and  the  mosque  and  the  cypresses 
around  it  in  the  happiest  possible  way. 


The  fountains  of  the  Valideh  Jedid 


The  latest  of  our  four  mosques  was  erected  by  the  sul- 
tana who,  being  by  birth  a  Greek,  took  away  San  Fran- 
cesco in  Galata  from  the  Conventuals.  At  least  that  lady 
was  the  builder  if  she  was  the  mother  of  Ahmed  III  as 
well  as  of  Moustafa  II.  She  atoned,  however,  for  that 
eminently  feminine  piece  of  high-handedness  by  her 
mosque  in  Scutari.  It  is  popularly  called  the  VaUdeh 
Jedid,  the  mosque  of  the  New  Mother,  and  it  belongs  to 
that  early  period  of  Turkish  rococo  which  Ahmed   III 


2o6      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

borrowed  from  Louis  XV.  For  the  mosque  of  a  new 
mother,  the  style  is  admirably  adapted.  It  is  to  be  seen 
at  its  most  characteristic  in  the  fountain  of  marble 
embroideries  which  stands  outside  the  north  gate  of  the 
mosque  yard.  A  second  fountain  stands  beside  the  first, 
of  the  sort  where  cups  of  water  are  filled  for  passers-by. 
Then  comes  the  tomb  of  the  foundress,  who  lies  like  the 
Kyopriiliis  under  a  skeleton  dome  of  bronze.  And  you 
should  see  the  roses  that  make  a  little  garden  around 
her  in  May.  They  are  an  allusion,  I  suppose,  to  her 
graceful  Turkish  name,  which  may  be  less  gracefully 
rendered  as  Rose  Attar  of  Spring.  The  mosque  yard 
has  no  great  interest  —  except  on  Fridays,  when  a  fair 
is  estabhshed  along  its  outer  edge.  But  I  must  draw 
attention  to  the  bird-house,  like  a  cross-section  of  a  little 
mosque  with  two  minarets,  on  the  facade  of  the  fore- 
court, and  to  the  small  marble  beehive  that  balances 
it.  This  forecourt  is  the  only  one  of  its  kind  in  Scutari. 
As  for  the  mosque  itself,  you  may  find  the  windows  too 
coquettish  even  for  a  New  Mother.  For  myself  I  rather 
like  their  flower-pots  and  flowers,  though  they  clearly 
belong  to  a  day  other  than  that  of  the  old  window  jew- 
ellery of  Sinan's  time.  The  green  tiles  about  the  inihrah 
also  betray  a  symptom  of  decadence  in  that  they  are  of 
a  repeating  pattern.  But  the  chief  point  of  the  mosque 
is  one  to  which  I  drew  attention  a  good  many  pages  back, 
namely  its  stencilling.  Being  a  native  of  Scutari,  I  can 
without  presumption  recommend  to  all  Ministers  of  Pious 
Foundations  that  they  preserve  that  old  painting  as  long 
as  the  last  flake  of  it  hangs  to  the  ceihng,  and  that  before 
the  last  flake  falls  they  learn  the  secret  of  its  effect.  So 
may  they  in  days  to  come  restore  "to  Riistem  Pasha  and 
Sultan  Ahmed  and  Yeni  Jami  a  part  of  their  lost  dig- 
nity. 


Interior  of  the  Valideh  Jedid 

In  the  gallery  at  the  left  is  the  imperial  tribune 


THE  CITY  OF   GOLD 


209 


You  are  not  to  suppose  that  Scutari  has  no  other 
mosques  than  these.  Ayazma  Jami  and  the  Selimieh 
are  two  other  imperial  monuments  whose  delightful  yards 
make  up  for  their  baroque  interiors.  And  the  small 
Ahmedieh   is   an   older   structure   which   you   must   not 


The  Ahmedieh 


attribute  to  any  Sultan  Ahmed.  Oldest  of  all  is  Roum 
Mehmed  Pasha,  once  a  Greek  church.  If  I  pass  it  by, 
however,  I  simply  cannot  pass  by  a  mosque  which 
stands  in  its  own  medresseh  court  on  the  south  side  of 
Scutari  harbour.  I  would  rather  study  theology  there 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  At  least,  I  do  not 
beheve   any   other   theological   school   has   so   perfect   a 


210      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

little  cloister  lying  so  close  to  the  sea.  And  while  other 
cloisters  were  designed  by  Sinan,  I  know  of  no  other 
that  was  founded  by  a  poet.  The  name  of  this  poet 
w^as  Shemsi  Pasha,  and  he  was  a  soldier  and  a  courtier 
as  well.  But  it  was  the  poetry  in  him,  together  with 
his  quick  wit  and  gay  humour,  that  first  drew  him  into 
1;he  notice  of  Suleiman  the  Magnificent.  Unlike  many 
men  of  his  circle,  he  was  a  real  Turk,  being  descended 
from  a  Seljukian  family  that  reigned  at  one  time  on  the 
shores  of  the  Black  Sea.  He  became  a  greater  favour- 
ite of  Selim  II  than  he  had  been  of  Siileiman.  Selim 
made  him  master  of  ceremonies  to  receive  the  ambas- 
sadors w^ho  came  to  Adrianople  to  congratulate  the  new 
Sultan  on  his  accession.  Among  these  was  a  Persian, 
whom  his  European  colleagues  greatly  astonished  by 
taking  off  their  hats  as  he  rode  in  with  his  magnificent 
suite.  The  Persian  asked  Shemsi  Pasha  what  the  extraor- 
dinary gesture  might  signify,  and  Shemsi  Pasha  told  him 
it  was  a  Christian  way  of  showing  that  they  were  ready 
to  drop  their  heads  at  the  feet  of  the  Sultan.  Under 
Mourad  III  Shemsi  Pasha  reached  an  even  higher  pitch 
of  fortune,  and  it  was  then  that  he  built  his  medresseh. 
He  jokingly  began  to  call  himself  the  Falcon  of  Petitions, 
for  it  was  his  business  to  receive  petitions  that  people 
brought  to  the  Sultan  —  and  the  presents  that  accom- 
panied them.  One  day  he  came  away  from  the  Sultan 
in  high  good  humour,  saying:  "At  last  I  have  avenged 
the  dynasty  of  my  fathers,  for  if  the  house  of  Osman 
caused  our  ruin  I  have  prepared  that  of  the  house  of 
Osman."  Asked  what  he  meant,  he  explained  that  he  had 
just  induced  the  Sultan  —  for  forty  thousand  ducats  — 
to  sell  his  favour.  "From  to-day  the  Sultan  himself  will 
give  the  example  of  corruption,  and  corruption  will  dis- 
solve the  empire." 


THE   CITY  OF  GOLD 


21  I 


Were  I  a  little  more  didactically  inclined,  this  speech 
should  inspire  the  severest  reflections  on  the  man  who 
made  it  and  on  the  ironical  truth  of  his  lightly  uttered 
prophecy.  As  it  is,  I  am  more  inclined  to  reflect  on  the 
irony  of  the  fact  that  ill-gotten  gains  may  do  more 
good  or  create  something  nearer  the  immortal  than  the 


Shemsi  Pasha 


savings  of  honest  toil  At  any  rate,  the  medresseh  of 
Shemsi  Pasha  is  such  a  place  as  only  a  poet  or  a  great 
architect  could  imagine;  and  many  homeless  people 
found  refuge  there  during  the  late  Balkan  War.  The 
cloister  is  very  small  and  irregular.  There  are  cells  and 
a  covered  arcade  on  two  sides.  The  third,  I  think,  from 
three  or  four  quaint  little  windows  of  perforated  marble 
that  remain  in  a  corner  of  the  wall,  must  once  have  been 


212      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

more  open  to  the  Bosphorus  than  it  is  now.  On  the 
fourth  side,  and  taking  up  a  good  deal  of  the  court,  are 
the  mosque  and  the  tomb  of  the  founder.  The  mosque 
must  have  been  a  httle  jewel  in  its  day.  It  is  half  a 
ruin  now.  The  minaret  is  gone  and  so  is  all  but  the 
pillars  of  the  portico  that  looked  into  the  court.  Within, 
however,  are  intricately  panelled  shutters,  and  a  little 
gallery  painted  on  the  under-side,  and  a  carved  mimber 
of  woodwork  like  that  in  the  tombs  of  Roxelana  and 
her  sons.  The  refugees  of  191 2,  poor  wretches,  saw  no 
reason  why  they  should  not  drive  as  many  nails  as  they 
needed  into  that  precious  wood.  The  greatest  ornament 
of  the  mosque  is  a  magnificent  bronze  grille  in  the  arch- 
way that  opens  into  the  adjoining  tomb.  This  grille  is 
rather  like  one  they  show  you  at  Ravenna,  in  a  crypt 
window  of  Sant'  ApoIIinare  in  Classe,  except  that  it  has 
an  arrow  in  each  of  the  arched  openings;  and  the  sur- 
mounting lunette  is  a  more  complicated  design.  Did 
Shemsi  Pasha,  who  seems  to  have  had  rather  a  genius 
for  picking  things  up,  get  hold  of  a  real  Byzantine  grille 
and  make  this  perfect  use  of  it?  The  tomb  itself  is  in 
a  piteous  state  of  neglect.  Nothing  is  left  to  show  which 
of  the  three  bare  and  broken  wooden  catafalques  marked 
the  grave  of  the  ^ead  poet.  Windows  in  the  outer  wall 
look  through  a  little  marble  portico  upon  a  ruined  quay. 
And,  tempered  so,  the  splash  and  flicker  of  the  Bos- 
phorus come  into  the  mosque. 

One  of  the  sights  of  Scutari  which  always  interests 
me  is  to  be  seen  behind  Shemsi  Pasha,  where  a  bluff  first 
begins  to  lift  itself  above  the  sea.  Here  on  any  summer 
day  you  will  notice  what  you  may  think  to  be  lines  of 
clothes  drying  in  the  wind.  The  clothes  are  really  those 
soft  figured  handkerchiefs  which  are  so  greatly  used  in  the 
East.      Bare-legged  men  dip  them  in  the  sea  to  set  the 


THE   CITY  OF  GOLD 


213 


colours;  and  from  them  you  may  follow  a  gory  trail  of 
dye  till  you  come  to  a  house  with  thick  wooden  bars 
tilted  strangely  out  under  the  eaves  Hke  gigantic  clothes- 
horses.  This  is  the  bassma  haneh  —  the  printing-house. 
It  has  belonged  to  the  same  family  for  two  hundred 
years,  and  during  that  time  it  can  hardly  have  changed 


The  bassma  haneh 


its  methods  of  wood-block  printing.  Every  bit  of  the 
work  is  done  by  hand.  Every  stitch  of  it  is  kigged  down 
to  the  salt  water  for  the  colours  to  be  made  fast,  and 
higged  back.  And  the  factory,  Hke  other  old-fashioned 
institutions  in  Constantinople,  is  open  only  from  the  day 
of  Hid'r  Eless,  in  May,  to  that  of  Kassim,  in  November. 
Once,  as  I  rather  intrusively  poked  my  way  about  it,  I 
came  upon  a  man,  whether  old  or  young  I  could  not  say, 


214      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

who  sat  on  the  floor  blocking  out  the  first  pattern  on 
long  white  strips  of  cloth  that  were  ultimately,  as  he 
told  me,  to  make  turbans  for  the  people  of  Kurdistan. 
The  room  was  almost  dark,  and  it  contained  hardly  any- 
thing beside  the  mattress  where  the  man  slept  at  night 
and  a  sizzling  caldron  beside  him.  The  mixture  in 
the  caldron,  into  which  he  kept  dipping  his  block,  was 
a  dye  of  death:  so  he  told  me,  literally  in  those  words, 
adding  that  it  had  already  cut  ten  years  off  his  life.  But 
his  employers  never  could  afford  to  put  some  sort  of  a 
chimney  over  the  caldron  —  and  they  assured  him  that 
empfoyment  like  his  was  to  be  found  in  no  other  country. 
Was  it  true?  he  asked  me.  I  thought  to  myself  that  the 
idyltic  old  days  of  hand  labour,  after  which  so  many  of 
us  sigh,  may  not  always  have  been  so  idyflic  after  afl. 

If  you  go  to  the  bassma  haneh  by  following  the  shore 
from  the  Great  Harbour,  it  is  very  likely  that  you  will 
never  get  there,  by  reason  of  the  bluff  to  which  I  have 
just  alluded.  No  road  runs  along  the  edge  of  that  bluff 
to  Haidar  Pasha  and  Moda,  as  perhaps  in  some  far  dis- 
tant day  of  civic  improvement  may  be  the  case;  but  here 
and  there  the  houses  are  set  a  little  back,  and  so  many 
streets  come  verl:ically  down  toward  the  water  that 
there  are  plenty  of  places  to  take  in  what  the  bluff  has 
to  offer.  And  then  you  will  see  why  so  many  sultans 
and  emperors  built  palaces  there  of  old.  I  may,  how- 
ever, draw  your  attention  for  a  moment  to  the  island 
lighthouse  falsely  known  as  Leander's  Tower.  In  an  old 
Italian  map  it  is  put  down  as  T^orre  della  Bella  Leandra, 
and  I  have  wondered  if  there,  haply,  was  a  clew  to  the 
name  or  whether  it  is  simply  a  sailor's  jumble  of  the 
legend  of  the  Dardanelles.  In  Turkish  it  is  called  Kiz 
Koulesi  —  the  Maiden's  Tower  —  and  it  has  a  legend  of 


THE  CITY  OF  GOLD 


21 


its  own.  This  relates  to  a  Greek  emperor  who,  being 
told  that  his  daughter  would  one  day  be  stung  by  a 
serpent,  built  a  little  castle  for  her  on  that  sea-protected 
rock.  But  it  happened  to  her  to  be  seen  by  an  Arab 
gallant,  who  expressed  his  admiration  by  bringing  her 
flowers  in  disguise.  Among  them  a  viper  chanced  to 
creep  one  day,  before  the  gallant  left  the  mainland,  and 


Hand  wood-block  printing 


the  princess's  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  The  gallant  imme- 
diately sucked  the  poison  out  of  her  wound,  however, 
and  ran  away  with  the  princess.  He  was  the  celebrated 
hero  Sid  el  Battal,  forerunner  of  the  Spanish  Cid,  who 
commanded  the  fifth  Arab  siege  of  Constantinople  in 
739  and  who  now  hes  buried  in  a  town  named  after  him 
in  Asia  Minor.  The  existing  Maiden's  Tower  was  built 
in  1763  by  Sultan  Moustafa  HI.  But  a  Byzantine  one 
existed  before  it,  of  the  emperor  Manuel  Comnenus, 
from  which  a  chain  used  to  be  stretched  in  time  of  war 


2i6      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

across  to  Seraglio  Point.  And  many  centuries  earlier 
the  rock  bore  the  statue  of  a  heifer  in  memory  of  Dama- 
lis,  wife  of  that  Athenian  Chares  who  drove  away  Philip 
of  Macedon.  After  her  the  bluff  itself  used  to  be  called 
Damahs  —  which  again  may  be  connected  with  the  in- 
tricate myth  of  lo  and  the  Bosphorus. 

Every  one  knows  the  old  story  of  the  Delphian  Ora- 
cle, who  told  the  colonists  of  Byzantium  to  settle  oppo- 
site the  City  of  the  Blind.  The  City  of  the  Blind  turned 
out  to  be  the  place  whose  inhabitants  had  passed  by  the 
site  of  Seraglio  Point.  The  reproach  cannot  be  fastened 
on  the  City  of  Gold,  because  Chalcedon  really  incurred 
it.  But  I  have  already  associated  the  two  towns,  and 
I  am  willing  to  do  so  again.  For  to  live  in  Scutari  is  to 
prove  either  that  the  oracle  was  bhnd  or  that  Byzas 
made  a  mistake.  No  other  conclusion  is  possible  for 
him  who  loiters  on  the  bluffs  opposite  Seragho  Point. 
One  of  the  best  places  to  see  Stamboul  is  there,  where  you 
look  at  it  against  the  light.  And  it  is  something  to  see 
in  the  early  morning,  with  mists  melting  out  of  the 
Golden  Horn  and  making  a  fairyland  of  all  those  domes 
and  pinnacles.  As  for  the  sunsets  of  Scutari,  with  Stam- 
boul pricking  up  black  against  them,  they  are  so  notable 
among  exhibitions  of  their  kind  that  I  cannot  imagine 
why  they  were  not  long  ago  put  down  among  sunsets 
of  San  Marco  and  moonlights  of  the  Parthenon  and  I 
know  not  how  many  other  favourite  wonders  of  the  world. 

I  never  heard,  however,  of  guides  recommending  so 
simple  an  excursion.  What  they  will  sometimes  grudg- 
ingly recommend  is  to  climb  the  hill  of  Chamlija.  Cham- 
lija  —  the  Place  of  Pines  —  is  a  hill  of  two  peaks,  one  a 
little  higher  than  the  other,  on  the  descending  terraces 
of  which  amphitheatrically  sprawls  the  City  of  Gold. 
Chamlija  is  the  highest  hill  on  the  Bosphorus,  and  there- 


THE   CITY  OF  GOLD 


217 


fore  is  it  dear  to  the  Turks,  who  are  like  the  Canaanites 
of  old  in  that  they  love  groves  and  high  places.  The 
groves,  it  is  true,  are  now  rather  thinly  represented  by 
the  stone-pines  that  give  the  height  its  name;  but  Turk- 
ish princes,  like  their  Byzantine  predecessors,  have  villas 
among  them,  while  the  hill  is  a  favourite  resort  of  their 


The  Bosphorus  from  the  heights  of  Scutari 


subjects.  The  widest  prospect,  of  course,  is  to  be  had 
from  the  top  of  Big  Chamlija.  But  a  more  picturesque 
one  is  visible  from  the  south  side  of  Little  Chamlija, 
taking  in  a  vivid  geography  of  cypress  forest  and  broken 
Marmora  coast,  and  Princes'  Isles  seen  for  once  swim- 
ming each  in  its  own  blue,  and  far-away  Bithynian  moun- 
tains; while  to  the  explorer  of  a  certain  northern  spur, 
running  straight  to  Beilerbei  Palace,  is  vouchsafed  one 


2i8      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

of  the  most  romantic  of  all  visions  of  the  Bosphorus. 
Chamlija  has  an  especial  charm  for  the  people  of  the 
country  because  of  its  water.  No  European  can  quite 
understand  what  that  means  to  a  Turk.  Being  forbidden 
to  indulge  in  fermented  hquors,  he  is  a  connoisseur  of 
water  —  not  mineral  water,  but  plain  H,0  —  as  other  men 
are  of  wine.'  He  calls  for  the  product  of  his  favourite 
spring  as  might  a  Westerner  for  a  special  vintage,  and  he 
can  tell  when  an  inferior  brand  is  palmed  off  on  him.  A 
dervish  named  Hafid  Effendi  once  pubhshed  a  monograph 
on  the  waters  of  Constantinople  in  which  he  described 
the  sixteen  best  springs,  which  he  himself  had  tested. 
I  wdll  not  enumerate  all  the  conditions  which  he  laid 
down  for  perfect  water.  One  of  them  is  that  it  must 
be  "light";  another  is  that  it  should  flow  from  south 
to  north  or  from  west  to  east.  A  certain  spring  of 
Chamhja  meets  these  requirements  better  than  any  other 
in  Constantinople.  A  sultan,  therefore,  did  not  think  it 
beneath  him  to  house  this  famous  water  of  my  native 
town,  and  gourmets  pay  a  price  to  put  it  on  their  tables. 
A  second  pretext  do  guides  and  guide-books,  out  of 
the  capriciousness  of  their  hearts,  allow  outsiders  for 
visiting  Scutari,  and  that  is  to  see  the  great  cemetery. 
For  that  matter,^  few  people  with  eyes  of  their  own  and  a 
whim  to  follow  them  could  look  up  from  the  water  at 
that  wood  of  cypresses,  curving  so  wide  and  sombre  above 
the  town,  without  desiring  to  know  more  of  it.  I  have 
wondered  if  Arnold  BockUn  ever  saw  it,  for  in  certain 
hghts,  and  from  the  right  point  of  the  Bosphorus,  Scutari 
looks  strangely  Hke  a  greater  Island  of  Death.  In  spite 
of  its  vast  population  of  old  grey  stones,  however,  there 
is  to  me  nothing  so  melancholy  -there  as  in  our  trim 
Western  places  of  burial,  shut  away  from  the  world  and 
visited  only  with  whispers.     There  is,  of  course,  a  grav- 


THE   CITY  OF  GOLD  219 

ity,  the  inseparable  Turkish  gravity,  but  withal  a  quiet 
colour  of  the  human.  For  the  Turks  have  a  different 
attitude  toward  death  from  ours.  I  do  not  mean  that 
they  lack  feeUng,  but  they  seem  to  take  more  Hterally 
than  we  their  religious  teaching  on  the  subject.  They 
have  no  conventional  mourning,  and  the  living  and  the 
dead  seem  much  nearer  to  each  other.  Nor  is  it  merely 
that  tombs  and  patches  of  cemetery  ornament  the  busi- 
est street.  "Visit  graves,"  says  a  tradition  of  the 
Prophet:  "Of  a  truth  they  shall  make  you  think  of 
futurity."  And  "Whoso  visiteth  every  Friday  the  graves 
of  his  two  parents,  or  one  of  the  two,  he  shall  be  written 
a  pious  son,  even  though  he  had  been  disobedient  to 
them  in  the  world."  And  people  do  visit  graves.  The 
cult  of  the  tilrbeh  is  a  thing  by  itself,  while  every  cem- 
etery is  a  place  of  resort.  The  cypresses  of  Scutari  are, 
therefore,  the  less  funereal  because  the  highways  of  com- 
mon Hfe  run  between  them.  I  speak  hterally,  for  the 
main  thoroughfares  between  Scutari  and  Kadi  Kyoi 
pass  through  the  cemetery.  Under  the  trees  the  stone- 
cutters fashion  the  quaint  marble  of  the  graves.  Foun- 
tains are  scattered  here  and  there  for  the  convenience 
of  passers-by.  People  sit  famiharly  among  the  stones 
or  in  the  coffee-houses  that  do  not  fail  to  keep  them 
company.  I  remember  an  old  man  who  used  to  keep 
one  of  the  coffee-houses,  and  how  he  said  to  me,  hke 
a  Book  of  Proverbs:  "Death  in  youth  and  poverty  in 
age  are  hard,  but  both  are  of  God."  He  was  born  in 
Bulgaria,  he  told  me,  when  it  was  still  a  part  of  Turkey, 
but  he  wished  to  die  in  Asia,  and  so  he  had  already  taken 
up  his  abode  among  the  cypresses  of  Scutari.  A  more 
tragic  anticipation  of  that  last  journey  has  been  made  by 
a  colony  of  lepers.  I  went  to  visit  them  once,  when  I 
thought  less  of  my  skin  than  I  do  now.     They  hve  in  a 


220       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

stone  quadrangle  set  back  from  the  Haidar  Pasha  road, 
with  windows  opening  only  into  their  own  court.  In 
front  of  the  gate  is  a  stone  post  where  people  leave  them 
food.  When  they  offered  me  some  of  it,  out  of  the  hos- 
pitality of  their  hearts,  I  must  confess  I  drew  the  line. 
They  kept  house  in  families,  each  in  its  own  little  apart- 
ment, and  the  rooms  were  clean  and  comfortable  in  the 
simple  Turkish  way.  But  the  faces  and  hands  of  some 
of  the  inmates  were  not  good  to  see.  It  made  one's 
heart  sick  for  the  children  who  are  born  and  innocently 
grow  up  in  that  place  of  death. 

The  stones  of  Scutari  are  a  study  which  I  have  often 
wished  I  had  the  knowledge  to  take  up.  Every  grave 
has  a  headstone  and  a  footstone,  taller  and  narrower 
than  our  old-fashioned  tombstones.  You  can  tell  at  a 
glance  whether  a  man  or  a  woman  is  buried  beneath  the 
marble  slab  that  generally  joins  the  two  stones.  In  old 
times  every  man  wore  a  special  turban,  according  to  his 
rank  and  profession,  and  when  he  died  that  turban  w^as 
carved  at  the  top  of  his  headstone.  The  custom  is  still 
continued,  although  the  fez  has  now  so  largely  taken  the 
place  of  the  turban.  Women's  stones  are  fmished  with 
a  carving  of  flowers.  Floral  reliefs  are  common  on  all 
monuments,  which  may  also  be  painted  and  gilded. 
And  in  the  flat  slab  will  be  a  little  hollow  to  catch  the 
rain  —  for  thirsty  spirits  and  the  birds.  The  epitaphs 
that  are  the  chief  decoration  are  not  very  different  from 
epitaphs  all  over  the  world,  though  perhaps  a  little  more 
flowery  than  is  now  the  fashion  in  the  West.  The  sim- 
pler ones  give  only  the  name  and  estate  of  the  deceased, 
with  a  request  for  a  prayer  or  a  Jatiha  —  the  opening 
invocation  of  the  Koran  —  and  some  such  verse  as  *'He 
is  the  Everlasting,"  "Every  soul  shall  taste  death,"  or 
"We  arc  God's  and  we  return  to  God."     This  sentiment 


THE   CITY  OF  GOLD 


221 


is  also  characteristic:  "Think  of  the  dead.  Lift  up 
your  hands  in  prayer,  that  men  may  some  time  visit 
your  grave  and  pray."  The  epitaph  is  often  rhymed, 
though  it  may  be  of  a  touching  simplicity  —  like  "0  my 
daughter!  O!  She  Hew  to  Paradise  and  left  to  her 
mother  only  the  sorrow  of  parting,"  or  "To  the  memory 


Gravestones 


of  the  spirit  of  the  blessed  Fatma,  mother  of  Omer  Agha, 
whose  children  find  no  way  out  of  their  grief."  Others 
are  more  complicated  and  Oriental,  ending,  hke  the  in- 
scriptions on  public  buildings,  in  a  chronogram.  Von 
Hammer  quotes  one,  not  in  this  cemetery,  which  is  pecu- 
harly  effective  in  Turkish: 

The  joy  of  the  life  of  Fe'izi,  inspector  of  markets, 
Has  vanished  into  the  other  world.     O  how  to  help  it! 


222      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND  NEW 

For  he  has  lost  his  rose-hud  of  a  daughter, 

Whose  like  will  bloom  no  more.     0  how  to  help  it! 

The  wind  of  death  blew  out  in  the  lantern 

The  light  of  the  feast  of  life.     0  how  to  help  it! 

In  bitterness  his  eye  swells  with  tears 

That  are  like  the  tide  of  the  sea.     O  how  to  help  it! 

In  bitterness  was  written  the  verse  of  the  number  of  the  year: 

Hiisseina  has  gone  away!    O  how  to  help  it! 

Behind  the  house  of  the  lepers  a  trail  branches  away 
into  the  most  lonely  part  of  this  strange  forest,  ulti- 
mately leading  down  a  hill,  too  rough  for  any  but  the  most 
adventurous  carriage,  to  a  quaint  little  stone  arch  mys- 
teriously called  Bloody  Bridge  that  spans  a  thread  of 
water  beside  a  giant  plane-tree.  On  this  southward- 
looking  slope  the  cypresses  attain  a  symmetry,  a  slen- 
derness,  a  height,  a  thickness  of  texture  and  richness  of 
colour  unmatched  in  Stamboul.  They  grow  in  squares, 
many  of  them,  or  in  magic  circles.  The  stones  under 
them  are  older  than  the  others,  and  more  like  things  of 
nature  in  the  flowered  grass.  On  certain  happy  after- 
noons, when  the  sun  brings  a  fairy  depth  and  softness 
of  green  out  of  the  cypresses,  when  their  shadows  fall 
lance-like  across  bare  or  mossy  aisles,  and  the  note  of  a 
solitary  bird  echoes  between  them,  it  is  hard  not  to 
imagine  oneself  in  an  enchanted  wood. 

In  the  eyes  of  most  comers  from  afar  the  dervishes, 
those  who  are  ignorantly  called  the  howling  dervishes, 
stand  for  Scutari  and  all  its  works.  And  the  fact  always 
irritates  me  because  it  indicates  so  perfect  a  blindness 
to  the  treasures  of  the  City  of  Gold  — -  and  something 
■else  that  no  sightseer  ever  pardons  in  another.  The 
tourists  are  not  in  the  least  interested  in  dervishes  in 
general.  The  subject  of  mysticism  and  its  Oriental  ram- 
ifications is  not  one  they  would  willingly  go  into.  They 
do    not    dream   that    Scutari   is   full   of  other   kinds   of 


THE  CITY  OF   GOLD 


223 


dervishes.     They  have  never  heard  of  the  Halved,  as  it 
were  the  descendants  of  the  Sleepless  Ones  of  the  Stiidion, 


Scutari  Cemetery 


who  consider  it  a  lack  of  respect  to  the  Creator  to  sleep 
lying  down,  or  even  to  cross  their  legs,  and  who  repeat 
every  night  in  the  year  the  temjid,  the  prayer  for  pity  of 
insomnia,  which  is  heard  elsewhere  only  in  Ramazan.     No 


224      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

one  has  ever  taken  a  tourist  to  see  so  much  as  the  beau- 
tiful ironwork  of  the  tomb  of  the  holy  Aziz  Mahmoud 
Hudai,  who  hved  eighteen  years  in  a  cell  of  the  ancient 
mosque  of  Roum  Mehmed  Pasha.  They  do  not  even 
know  that  Rouja'i  is  the  true  name  of  the  dervishes  they 
go  to  stare  at,  and  that  there  is  more  than  one  tekkeh  of 
them  in  Scutari.  The  traditional  "howhng"  is  all  that 
concerns  them.  And  if  I  were  the  sheikh  of  that  tekkeh 
I  would  shut  its  doors  to  all  tourists  —  or  at  least  to  more 
than  one  or  two  of  them  at  a  time.  They  make  more 
noise  than  the  dervishes. 

Having  reheved  my  mind  on  this  subject,  in  my  qual- 
ity of  a  native  of  Scutari,  I  am  able  to  continue  in  my 
other  quality  of  peripatetic  impressionist.  And  inciden- 
tally I  may  record  my  observation  that  tourists  have, 
after  all,  rather  a  knack  for  choosing  sights  that  are 
interesting  to  see.  I  am  a  great  admirer  of  the  oblong 
wooden  hall  of  the  Rouja'i,  coloured  a  dull  green,  with 
its  weapons  and  inscriptions  and  brass  candlesticks  at 
the  end  of  the  mihrab,  and  its  recess  of  tombs,  and  its 
latticed  gallery.  The  floor  under  the  gallery  is  railed 
off  and  set  apart  for  the  spectators,  who  also  overflow 
into  the  central  quadrangle  in  case  of  need  —  if  they  be 
of  the  faith.  The  ceremony  itself  has  been  described 
so  often  that  there  is  no  need  for  me  to  describe  it  again, 
though  I  would  hke  to  do  so  with  a  little  more  toler- 
ance for  unfamiliar  rehgious  observances  than  some 
books  show.  I  have  never  read,  however,  of  such  a 
ritual  as  I  once  happened  to  see  on  the  Mohammedan 
Ascension  Day.  Part  of  the  service  was  a  sermon  from 
the  black-bearded  she'ih  upon  the  miraculous  event  of 
the  day.  At  the  end  of  the  usual  -rite  all  the  dervishes 
and  many  of  the  spectators  formed  a  great  ring  in  the 
centre  of  the  hall,  holding  hands,  and  circled  in  a  time 


THE   CITY  OF   GOLD  225 

of  eight  beats,  calling  "Allah!  Allah!  Al-lah!''  The 
rhythm  grew  faster  and  faster,  and  the  calling  louder  and 
hoarser,  until  two  or  three  visiting  dervishes  of  another 
familiar  sect  shpped  into  the  middle  of  the  ring  and  began 
to  whirl  in  their  own  silent  way,  while  an  old  man  with  a 
rose  tucked  under  his  black  turban  sang  w^th  a  wildness 
of  yearning  that  only  Oriental  music  can  convey.  Then 
the  ring  broke  and  they  all  marched  in  a  long  Hne  into 
the  recess  of  the  tombs,  where  each  man  prostrated  him- 
self before  the  first  of  the  turbaned  catafalques. 

Whether  that  was  the  end  I  have  no  means  of  know- 
ing, for  I  was  asked  to  leave.  That  is  ahvays  the  case, 
I  notice,  when  I  want  to  stay  after  the  rest  of  the  sight- 
seers have  got  tired  and  gone  away.  It  rather  annoys 
me  that  I  should  be  classed  with  unbehevers,  and  made 
to  sit  with  them  on  a  bench  behind  the  raihng  instead  of 
squatting  on  a  sheepskin  mat  hke  the  other  people  of 
Scutari.  Yet  if  it  were  not  so  it  would  never  have  be- 
fallen me  to  come  into  contact  with  so  eminent  a  person- 
ality of  my  day  as  Mme.  Bernhardt  —  or  at  least  with 
her  parasol.  The  actress  has  often  been  to  Constanti- 
nople, and  she  must  have  seen  the  howling  dervishes 
many  times.  Wlio  knows  what  so  great  an  expert  in 
expression  may  have  caught  from  the  ritual  frenzy  of  the 
Rouja'i?  It  so  happened ' that  one  of  those  times  was 
also  the  occasion  of  my  first  visit.  I  went  early,  in  order 
to  secure  a  good  place.  Alme.  Bernhardt  did  not.  She 
has  no  doubt  learned  by  long  and  flattering  experience 
that  however  late  she  arrives  she  is  sure  of  a  good  place. 
Nor  can  I  suppose  she  always  manages  it  in  the  way  she 
did  then.  She  arrived  late,  I  say,  and  by  the  time  she 
arrived  there  was  no  room  left  in  the  front  row  of  benches. 
I  regret  to  confess  that  I  did  not  at  once  hop  out  of  my 
seat  and  put  her  into  it.     The  performance  had  already 


226      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

begun,  tourists  were  all  the  time  coming  in,  and  while  I 
caught  some  buzz  about  the  Divine  Sarah,  I  was  just  then 
paying  more  attention  to  the  men  of  God  in  front  of  me. 
Presently,  however,  I  felt  a  fearful  poke  in  my  back.  I 
knew  that  poke.  It  was  the  eternal  feminine.  It  was 
beauty.  It  \yas  genius.  It  was  the  Divine  Sarah,  de- 
siring impressions  and  not  to  be  debarred  from  them  by 
a  small  tourist  quelconque  —  and  divinely  unconscious 
that  she  might  be  imparting  them,  yet  not  unaware  that 
many  a  man  would  jump  into  the  Seine  or  the  Bosphorus 
at  a  poke  from  her.  What  would  you?  I  was  young, 
the  parasol  was  hard,  and  the  Divine  Sarah  was  the 
Divine  Sarah.  I  accordingly  sKpped  out  of  my  place,  I 
hope  not  without  a  gracious  smile.  And  what  I  saw  of 
the  dervishes  that  day  was  through  the  fohage  of  a  very 
complicated  hat.  I  must  say  that  I  resented  it  a  httle. 
But  I  consoled  myself  by  murmuring  behind  Sarah's 
back  —  and  the  poet's  — - 

"To  poke  is  human,  to  forgive  divine." 


VII 

THE  GARDENS  OF  THE   BOSPHORUS 

Giardini  chiusi,  appena  intravediiti, 
0  coniemplati  a  lungo  pe'  cancelli 
die  mat  nessuna  mano  al  viandante 
smarrito  apri  come  in  un  sogno!     Miiti 
giardini,  cimiteri  senza  avelli, 
ove  errajorse  qualche  spirto  amante 
dietro  Vomhre  de'  suoi  beni  perduti! 
— Gabriele   D'Annunzio:   "Poema  Paradisiaco." 

.  In  the  matter  of  gardens  the  Turk  has  never  acquired 
the  reputation  of  his  Moorish  and  Persian  cousins.  Per- 
haps it  is  that  he  belongs  to  a  younger  race  and  has 
had  more  conflicting  traditions  out  of  which  to  evolve  a 
style.  For  no  man  Hkes  a  garden  better  than  he.  He 
never  could  put  up  with  a  thing  Hke  the  city  back 
yard  or  the  suburban  lawn  of  the  New  World.  He  is 
given  to  sitting  much  out-of-doors,  he  does  not  hke  to 
be  stared  at  while  he  is  doing  it,  and  he  has  a  great 
love  of  flowers.  This  is  one  of  his  most  sympathetic 
traits,  and  one  which  was  illustrated  for  me  in  an  unex- 
pected quarter  during  the  late  Balkan  War  when  I  saw 
soldiers  in  a  temporary  camp  laying  out  patches  of  turf 
and  pansies  around  their  tents.  The  fashion  of  the  but- 
tonhole is  not  yet  perfectly  acclimated  in  Constanti- 
nople, but  nothing  is  commoner  than  to  observe  a  grave 
personage  marching  along  with  one  rose  or  one  pink 
in  his  hand  —  of  which  flowers  the  Turks  are  inordi- 
nately fond.  Less  grave  personages  do  not  scorn  to  wear 
a  flower  over  one  ear,  with  its  stem  stuck  under  their 

227 


228      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

fez.  And  I  always  remember  a  fireman  I  once  beheld 
who  was  not  too  busy  squirting  water  at  a  burning 
house  to  stop  every  now  and  then  and  smell  the  rose  he 
held  between  his  teeth. 

I  cannot  claim  to  know  very  much  about  the  gar- 
dens of  Stamboul,  though  no  one  can  walk  there  with- 
out continually  noticing  evidences  of  them  —  through 
gateways,  over  the  tops  of  walls,  wherever  there  is  a 
patch  of  earth  big  enough  for  something  green  to  take 
root.  Any  one,  however,  may  know  something  about  the 
gardens  of  the  Bosphorus.  The  nature  of  the  ground 
on  which  they  are  laid  out,  sloping  sharply  back  from 
the  water  to  an  average  height  of  four  or  five  hundred 
feet  and  broken  by  valleys  penetrating  more  gradually 
into  the  rolhng  table-lands  of  Thrace  and  Asia  Minor, 
makes  it  possible  to  visit  many  of  them  without  going 
into  them.  And  the  fact  has  had  much  to  do  with  their 
character.  Gardens  already  existed  on  the  banks  of  the 
Bosphorus,  of  course,  when  the  Turk  arrived  there,  and 
he  must  have  taken  them  very  much  as  he  found  them. 
Plane-trees  still  grow  which,  without  any  doubt,  were 
planted  by  Byzantine  gardeners;  and  so,  perhaps,  were 
certain  great  stone-pines,  I  have  also  wondered  if  the 
Turks  did  not  find,  when  they  came,  the  black  and  white 
pebbles,  generally  arranged  in  un-Oriental-Iooking  de- 
signs, that  pave  so  many  garden  paths.  I  am  more  in- 
clined to  believe  that  these  originated  in  the  same  order 
of  things  as  the  finer  mosaic  of  church  walls  than  that 
they  were  imported  from  Italy.  Perhaps  the  ItaHans  im- 
ported them  from  Constantinople. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  whether  the  Byzan- 
tine influence  played  any  part  in  the  gardens  of  the 
Renaissance,  as  it  did  in  so  many  other  arts.  However, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  Italian  influence  came  back 


THE   GARDENS  OF  THE   BOSPHORUS    229 

to  Constantinople  after  the  Turkish  period.  It  began 
to  come  most  defmitcly,  if  by  a  roundabout  road,  when 
Sultan  Ahmed  HI  imitated  the  gardens  of  Versailles. 
It  came  again  from  the  same  quarter  when  the  successor 
of  Ahmed  III  sent  the  son  of  Twenty-eight  Mehmed  on 
another  mission  to  Paris.  And  it  came  more  definitely 
still,  by  a  still  more  roundabout  road,  when  a  Russian 
ambassador  brought  to  Constantinople,  at  the  end  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  a  painter  named  Melhng.  Like 
Van  Mour,  Alelling  has  left  most  interesting  records  of 
the  Bosphorus  of  his  day.  In  the  course  of  time  it  be- 
fell him  to  be  recommended  as  landscape-gardener  to  a 
member  of  the  imperial  family,  the  celebrated  Hadijeh 
Soultan.  Through  the  good  graces  of  this  enhghtened 
princess  he  later  became  architect  to  her  brother.  Sul- 
tan Selim  III,  the  Reformer.  I  do  not  know  whether 
it  w^as  the  painter,  in  turn,  who  obtained  for  the  Sultan 
the  brother  of  the  gardener  of  Schonbrunn.  But  alto- 
gether Melling  must  have  done  a  good  deal  more  for 
the  gardens  of  the  Bosphorus  than  to  paint  them. 

At  the  same  time,  no  one  has  done  more  for  them 
than  the  Bosphorus  itself.  A  terrace  ten  feet  long  may 
be  as  enviable  as  an  estate  reaching  from  the  w^ater's 
edge  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  since  it  is  the  blue  panorama 
of  the  strait,  with  its  busy  boats  and  its  background  of 
climbing  green,  that  is  the  chief  ornament  of  the  garden. 
The  Turks  lean,  accordingly,  to  the  landscape  school. 
Their  gardens  have,  really,  very  Httle  of  an  Italian  air. 
The  smallest  patch  of  ground  in  Italy  is  more  architec- 
tural than  the  largest  Turkish  estate.  However  much 
stone  and  mortar  the  Turks  put  together  in  retaining 
and  enclosing  walls,  the  result  has  little  architectural 
effect.  They  do  not  trim  terraces  with  marble  balus- 
trades, while  the  lack  of  garden  sculpture  is  with  them 


230      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

a  matter  into  which  religion  enters.  Nor  do  they  often 
plant  trees  like  the  Itahans  —  to  balance  each  other, 
to  frame  a  perspective,  to  make  a  background.  Still 
less,  I  imagine,  do  they  consciously  make  colour  schemes 
of  flowers.  And  Lady  Mary  Montagu  noted  a  long  time 
ago  the  absence  of  the  trim  parterres  to  which  she  was 


In  a  Turkish  garden 


accustomed.  It  is  perfectly  in  keeping  with  Oriental 
ideas  of  design,  of  course,  for  a  Turkish  garden  not  to 
have  too  much  symmetry.  Yet  it  does  have  more  sym- 
metry than  an  out-and-out  landscaper  would  counte- 
nance, and  definitely  artificial  features.  I  always  wonder 
whether  the  natural  look  of  so  many  paths  and  stone 
stairs  and  terraces  is  merely  a  result  of  time  or  whether 
it  is  an  accidental  effect  of  the  kind  striven  for  by  a 
school  of  our  own  gardeners. 


THE   GARDENS  OF   THE   BOSPHORUS    231 

If  Turkish  gardens  tend  to  look  a  little  wild,  it  is 
partly  because  they  contain  so  many  trees.  In  Con- 
stantinople, at  least,  there  is  so  little  rain  in  summer 
that  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to  keep  the  gardens 
green  without  them  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  shade  and 
privacy  they  afford.  The  old  gardeners  evidently  stud- 
ied the  decorative  effect  of  different  kinds  of  trees. 
Those  who  have  never  visited  Constantinople  some- 
times imagine  the  Bpsphorus  to  be  overhung  by  palms 
—  I  suppose  because  it  washes  the  coast  of  Asia  and 
flows  into  the  Mediterranean.  They  are  accordingly 
sadly  disillusioned  when  they  come  to  it  at  the  end  of 
a  winter  in  other  parts  of  the  Mediterranean  and  en- 
counter a  snow-storm.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Bos- 
phorus,  which  lies  in  about  the  same  latitude  as  Long 
Island  Sound,  has  been  solidly  frozen  over  two  or  three 
times  in  history.  The  last  time  was  in  February,  1621. 
That  winter,  if  I  remember  correctly,  was  also  severe 
for  certain  adventurers  lately  come  from  England  to 
Massachusetts  Bay.  But  if  palms  are  as  great  a  rarity 
in  Constantinople  as  in  New  York  or  Connecticut,  the 
trees  that  do  grow  there  belong  to  a  chmate  more  like 
northern  Italy.  Among  the  most  striking  of  them,  and 
happily  one  of  the  commonest,  is  the  stone-pine.  These 
are  often  magnificent,  marching  in  a  row  along  the  edge 
of  a  terrace  or  the  top  of  a  hill  with  full  consciousness 
of  their  decorative  vakie.  The  cypress,  even  more  com- 
mon, seems  to  me  never  to  have  been  made  the  most 
of.  Perhaps  the  Turks,  and  the  Greeks  before  them, 
associated  it  too  much  with  death  to  play  with  it  as 
did  the  ItaHans  of  the  Renaissance.  The  Constantino- 
ple variety,  it  is  true,  incHnes  to  raggedness  rather  than 
to  slenderness  or  height.  Other  evergreens,  inckiding 
the  beautiful  cedar  of  Lebanon,  have  been  domesticated 


232       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 


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9 

in  smaller  numbers.  Being  unscientifically  minded,  I  can 
say  that  the  magnoha  might  properly  be  classed  among 
them,  the  Magnolia  grandijiora  of  our  Southern  States, 
since  it  keeps  its  glossy  leaves  all  winter  long.  One  of 
the  less  tenacious  brotherhood,  the  plane-tree,  is  easily 

king  of  the  Bosphorus, 
reaching  a  girth  and 
height  that  ahiiost  fit  it 
for  the  company  of  the 
great  trees  of  Cahfornia. 
It  always  seems  to  me 
the  most  treey  of  trees, 
so  regularly  irregular 
are  the  branches  and  so 
beautiful  a  pattern  do 
they  make  when  the 
leaves  are  off".  Limes, 
walnuts,  chestnuts, 
horse-chestnuts,  Lom- 
bardy  poplars,  acacias 
of  various  sorts,  mul- 
berries, the  Japanese 
medlar,  the  dainty  pom- 
egranate, the  classic  bay, 
are  also  characteristic. 
The  pale  branches  of 
the  fig  are  always  deco- 
rative, and  when  the  leaves  first  begin  to  sprout  they  look 
in  the  sun  hke  green  tuhps.  The  ohve  and  the  glorious 
oleander  will  only  thrive  in  sheltered  corners,  while  oranges 
and  lemons  grow  in  pots.  In  the  hillside  parks  that  are 
the  pride  of  the  larger  estates,  nightingale-haunted  in  the 
spring,  pleasantly  green  in  rainless  summers,  and  warmly 
tawny    in    the    autumn,    deciduous    trees    predominate 


A  Byzantine  well-head 


THE   GARDENS  OF  THE   BOSPHORUS    233 


altogether.  Among  them  is  one  of  heart-shaped  leaves 
and  dark  capricious  branches  with  whose  Latin  name  I 
am  unacquainted  but  which  is  one  of  the  greatest  orna- 
ments of  the  Bosphorus.  The  Turks  call  it  ergovan,  and 
its  blossoming  is  the  signal  for  them  to  move  to  their 
country  houses.  In  En- 
ghsh,  I  believe,  we  call 
it  the  Judas,  after  some 
legend  that  makes  it  the 
tree  on  which  the  trai- 
torous apostle  hanged 
himself.  He  would  ap- 
parently have  been  of 
high  descent,  for  the 
flowers,  which  took 
thereafter  the  stain  of 
his  blood,  have  a  de- 
cided violet  tinge.  They 
fledge  the  branches  so 
thickly  before  the  leaves 
are  out  that  they  paint 
whole  hillsides  of, April 
with  their  magenta. 

In  addition  to  the 
woodiness  of  the  Bos- 
phorus gardens.  Lady 
Mary  Montagu  remarked 

another  element  of  their  character  which,  I  am  afraid,  has 
become  less  frequent  since  her  day.  However,  if  garden 
sculpture  of  one  kind  is  rare,  garden  marbles  of  another 
kind  do  very  definitely  exist.  Here,  too,  I  fancy  the  Turk 
found  something  when  he  came.  There  is  a  smiling  lion 
to  be  found  in  certain  gardens  who,  unless  I  am  greatly 
mistaken,  has  Byzantine  blood  in  his  veins  — -  if  that  may 


A  garden  wall  fountain 


234      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

be  said  of  a  water  spouter.  He  is  cousin  german  to  the  lion 
of  St.  Mark,  who  only  improved  on  him  by  growing  wings. 
There  are  also  well-heads  which  are  commonly  supposed 
to  have  been  turned  to  that  use  by  the  Turks  out  of 
Byzantine  capitals.  But  I  do  not  see  why  some  of  them 
may  not  be  original  well-heads.  One  sees  exactly  the 
same  sort  of  thing  in  Italy,  except  that  the  style  of 
ornament  is  different  in  the  two  countries.  The  purely 
Turkish  garden  marbles  are  of  the  same  general  order, 
having  to  do  with  water.  And,  although  there  was  less 
need  of  them  when  nature  had  already  been  so  gener- 
ous, they  are  what  the  Turk  brought  most  of  himself 
to  the  gardens  of  the  Bosphorus.  The  Turkish  w^ell- 
heads  are  not  particularly  interesting,  being  at  their  best 
not  much  more  than  a  marble  barreL  Much  more  in- 
teresting are  the  marble  basins  and  the  upright  tablets 
behind  them  which  mark  the  head  of  a  water-pipe. 
These  tablets  are  sometimes  charmingly  decorated  with 
arabesques  and  low  reliefs  of  flowers.  But  the  real 
fountains  are  the  most  characteristic,  and  it  seems  to 
me  that  they  offer  the  most  in  the  way  of  suggestion 
to  the  Western  gardener.  I  think  no  one  has  ever  under- 
stood like  the  Oriental  the  poetry  of  water.  Western 
architects  and  gardeners  have,  of  course,  made  great 
use  of  decorative  water;  but  we  never  seem  to  be  happy 
unless  we  have  a  mountain  of  marble  and  a  torrent  of 
water  to  work  with.  Whereas  the  architects  of  the  East 
have  always  known  in  this  matter  how  to  get  the  great- 
est effect  out  of  the  least  materiaL  There  are  charms 
in  a  shallow  pool  or  a  minute  trickle  of  water  which  are 
of  an  entirely  different  order  from  those  of  an  artificial 
lake  or  cascade. 

Almost  every  Turkish  garden  contains  visible  water 
of  some  sort,  which  at  its  simplest  is  nothing  but  a  shal- 


THE   GARDENS  OF  THE   BOSPHORUS    235 

low  marble  pool.  In  the  centre  of  the  pool  is  some- 
times a  fountain  which  I  always  think  of  with  regret 
when  there  is  pointed  out  for  my  admiration  a  too  fat 
marble  infant  strugghng  with  a  too  large  marble  fish,  or 
a  dwarf  holding  an  umbrella  over  its  head.  This  foun- 
tain consists  of  nothing  but  a  series  of  jets,  generally  on 


A  jetting  fountain  in  the  garden  of  Halil  Edhem  Bey 


varying  levels,  set  in  a  circle  of  those  marble  stalactites 
- — here  should  one  call  them  stalagmites?  —  which  are 
so  famihar  in  Oriental  architecture.  Nothing  could  be 
simpler,  apparently,  but  nothing  could  combine  more 
perfectly  all  the  essentials  of  a  jetting  fountain.  There 
is  another  fountain  which  deals  even  more  delicately 
with  the  sound  of  water.  This  is  a  dripping  fountain, 
set  always  against  a  wall  or  a  bank.  It  is  a  tail  mar- 
ble tablet,  decorated,  perhaps,  with  low  reliefs  of  fruit 


236      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 


and  flowers,  on  the  face  of  which  a  series  of  tiny  basins 
are  carved.  I  have  seen  one  where  water  started  at  the 
top  from  the  eyes  of  two  doves  and  trickled  into  the 
first  Httle  basin,  from  which  it  overflowed  into  two 
below,  then  back  into  one,  and  so  on  tiH  it  came  into 

three  widening  semi- 
circular pools  at  the 
bottom.  Selsebil  is 
the  name  of  this 
fountain  in  Turkish, 
which  is  the  name 
of  a  fountain  in 
Paradise;  and  a 
fountain  of  Paradise 
it  may  be  indeed 
with  afl  its  httle 
streams  atinkle.  A 
more  dehghtful  or- 
nament for  a  garden 
does  not  exist,  being 
equally  adapted  for 
the  end  of  a  vista  or 
for  a  narrow  space; 
and  it  requires  the 
smaflest  supply  of 
water. 
The  Turkish  architects  have  not  scorned  more  im- 
posing effects  when  they  had  the  means,  as  did  Ahmed 
III  at  Kiat  Haneh.  The  marble  cascades  into  which 
he  turned  the  Barbyses  are  called  chaghleyan  —  some- 
thing which  resounds.  I  have  seen  a  smaller  chagh- 
leyan in  a  garden  on  the  Asiatic  shore  of  the  Bosphorus. 
This  is  a  scries  of  descending  pools,  one  emptying  into 
another   tifl   the   water   finafly   runs    into  a  large   round 


A  selsebil  at  Kandilli 


THE   GARDENS   OF  THE   BOSPHORUS    237 

marble  basin.  The  water  starts,  between  two  curved 
flights  of  stone  steps,  from  three  marble  shells  in  the  re- 
taining wall  of  a  terrace;  and  from  the  terrace  an  ar- 
bour looks  down  the  perspective  of  mirroring  pools  to 
an  alley  that  leads  from  the  last  basin  away  between 
arching  trees.  This 
beautiful  old  garden 
belongs  to  the  Turk- 
ish painter  Ressam- 
Halil  Pasha,  who 
studied  in  Paris  at 
a  time  when  the 
plastic  arts  were  still 
anathema  among 
the  Turks.  In  his 
studio  are  figure 
studies,  made  dur- 
ing his  student  days, 
which  even  now  he 
could  scarcely  ex- 
hibit in  Constanti- 
nople; and  it  would 
be  thought  a  scan- 
dalous thing  if  he 
tried  to  get  Turkish 
models  to  sit   for 


A  selsebil  of  Halil  Edhem  Bey 


such  pictures.  Wlien  he  heard  where  I  came  from  he 
asked  if  there  were  in  America  a  painter  called  Mr.  Cox, 
who  had  studied  with  him  under  Gerome. 


There  is  rivalry  between  th€  gardens  of  the  upper, 
the  middle,  and  the  lower  Bosphorus  with  regard  to 
their  advantages  of  position.  The  upper  Bosphorus  is 
the   most   desirable   from   the   European   point   of  view. 


238       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

This  preference  is  fairly  well  established,  for  Lady  Alary 
Montagu  wrote  letters  from  Belgrade  Forest  two  hun- 
dred years  ago,  and  about  the  same  time  a  summer 
colony  composed  of  Europeans  and  of  the  great  Pha- 
nariote  families  began  to  gather  at  Buyiik  Dereh  and 
Therapia.  In  much  earlier  times,  however,  the  Byzan- 
tine emperors  built  villas  at  Therapia,  and  the  very 
name  of  the  place  indicates  the  antiquity  of  its  repute 
as  a  place  of  resort.  The  name  has  come  down  in  the 
story  of  Jason  and  the  Argo,  who  sailed  between  these 
shores  in  the  dawn  of  legend.  \\'hen  those  early  voy- 
acrers  returned  from  Colchis  with  Medea,  that  formida- 
ble  passenger  threw  out  poison  on  the  Thracian  shore; 
whence  the  name  Pharmakia,  changed  by  the  euphe- 
mism of  the  Greeks  to  Therapia,  or  Healing.  There  are 
reasons,  to  be  sure,  why  it  is  better  to  look  at  Therapia 
than  to  be  in  it.  The  view  it  commands  is  the  bleak- 
est on  the  Bosphorus,  and  the  prevailing  north  wind  of 
midsummer,  the  meltem,  which  keeps  the  strait  much 
cooler  than  you  would  imagine  from  its  latitude,  some- 
times gets  on  one's  nerves.  Nevertheless  Therapia  is  a 
centre  for  an  extraordinary  variety  of  pleasant  excur- 
sions, there  are  delicious  gardens  in  the  clefts  of  its 
hills,  and  from  May  till  October  the  embassies  impart 
to  it  such  gaiety  as  the  somewhat  meagre  social  re- 
sources of  Constantinople  afford.  I  shall  be  surprised 
if  the  proximity  of  Belgrade  Forest  and  the  magnificent 
beach  of  Kilios  on  the  Black  Sea,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
various  other  resources  of  the  Bosphorus  and  the  Mar- 
mora, do  not  some  day  make  Therapia  much  more  fa- 
mous as  a  summer  resort. 

Constantinople  is,  I  believe,  the  sole  diplomatic  post 
to  which  summer  residences  are  attached.  Each  envoy 
also  has   a  launch   for  keeping  in  touch  with  the  Sub- 


THE   GARDENS   OF   THE   BOSPHORUS    239 

lime  Porte,  fifteen  miles  away.  The  local  legend  is  that 
the  birds  which  are  so  characteristic  a  feature  of  the 
Bosphorus  —  halcyons  are  they  ? —  for  ever  skimming 
up  and  down  just  above  the  surface  of  the  water,  are 
the  souls  of  the  Phanariote  dragomans  who  used  to  go 
back  and  forth   so   often   between   Therapia  and  Stam- 


In  the  garden  of  Ressam  Halil  Pasha 


boul.  A  despatch-boat,  as  well,  is  at  the  disposal  of  each 
ambassador  except  the  Persian.  These  dignities  came 
about  very  naturally  by  reason  of  the  epidemics  and 
disorders  which  used  to  break  out  in  the  city,  the  dis- 
tance of  Constantinople  from  other  European  resorts, 
and  the  generosity  of  the  sultans.  The  English,  French, 
and  German  governments  all  own  beautiful  estates  at 
Therapia,  presented  to  them  by  different  sultans,  while 


240      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

the  Russians  are  magnificently  established  at  the  neigh- 
bouring village  of  Biiyuk  Dereh.  Their  great  hillside 
park  is  a  perfect  wood,  so  dense  in  summer  that  the 
water  is  scarcely  visible  from  it.  The  Italians  also 
make  villeggiatura  at  Therapia,  the  Austrians  and  Per- 
sians being  installed  farther  down  the  Bosphorus.  Our 
ambassador  is  the  sole  envoy  of  his  rank  obHged  to  hunt 
up  hired  quarters,  though  even  some  of  the  small  lega- 
tions occupy  their  own  summer  homes.  Should  Con- 
gress ever  persuade  itself  that  diplomatic  dignity  is  a 
thing  worthy  to  be  upheld,  or  should  some  sultan  pre- 
sent us  with  one  of  the  old  estates  still  available,  I  hope 
we  shall  build  an  embassy,  like  the  one  the  French  occu- 
pied so  long,  in  keeping  with  its  surroundings  and  not 
such  a  monstrosity  as  other  Powers  have  put  up.  The 
charming  old  French  embassy,  which  originally  belonged 
to  the  famous  Ypsilanti  family,  was  one  of  the  sights 
of  the  Bosphorus  until  it  burned  up  in  191 3.  The 
grounds  are  not  so  large  as  some  of  the  other  embassy 
gardens,  but  none  of  the  others  seem  to  me  so  happily 
placed  or  so  sapiently  laid  out.  A  bridge  led  from 
the  house  to  the  first  terrace,  whose  trees  and  flowers 
irregularly  follow  the  curve  of  the  hillside.  A  formal 
avenue  and  steep  wood  paths  mount  to  the  grassy  upper 
terrace,  commanding  between  noble  pines  and  beeches 
the  mouth  of  the  Black  Sea. 

There  are  Turks,  of  course,  in  the  upper  Bosphorus, 
as  there  are  Christians  in  the  middle  Bosphorus.  One 
of  the  most  conspicuous  of  all  the  Bosphorus  gardens  is 
at  Beikos,  on  the  Asiatic  shore  —  which,  for  the  rest,  is 
much  more  Turkish  than  the  European.  Beikos  is  also 
connected  w4th  the  Argonauts,  being  the  place  where 
they  met  with  so  unkind  a  welcome  from  Amycus,  king 
of  the  Bebrvces.      He  or  some  other  mythic  personage 


The  garden  of  the  Russian  embassy  at  Biiyuk  Dereh 


THE   GARDENS  OF  THE   BOSPHORUS    243 

is  supposed  to  have  been  buried  on  the  hilltop  behind 
Beikos.  This  height,  popularly  known  as  Giant's  Moun- 
tain, is  the  only  one  on  the  Bosphorus  from  which  you 
can  see  both  the  Black  Sea  and  the  Marmora  —  as 
Bvron  recorded   in  a  notorious  stanza.     A  giant  grave 


The  upper  terrace  of  the  French  embassy  garden  at  Therapia 

is  Still  to  be  seen  there,  some  twenty  feet  long,  which 
the  Turks  honour  as  that  of  rather  an  unexpected  per- 
sonage. A  Httle  mosque  adjoins  the  grave  —  built,  I  be- 
lieve, by  the  ambassador  Twenty-eight  Mehmed  —  and 
in  the  mosque  is  this  interesting  inscription:  "Here  hes 
his  excellency  Joshua,  the  son  of  Nun,  who  although  not 
numbered  among  the  apostles  may  well  be  called  a  true 
prophet  sent  of  God.     He  was  despatched  by  Moses  (on 


244       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

whom  be  peace)  to  fight  the  people  of  Rome.  While  the 
battle  was  yet  unfinished  the  sun  set.  Joshua  caused 
the  sun  to  rise  again  and  the  Romans  could  not  escape. 
This  miracle  convinced  them;  and  when  Joshua  in\  ited 
them,  after  the  battle,  to  accept  the  true  faith,  they 
believed  and  accepted  it.  If  any  man  doubts,  let  him 
look  into  the  sacred  \\  ritings  at  the  Holy  Places  of  the 
Christians  and  he  w  ill  be  satisfied."  The  garden  I  have 
wandered  so  far  away  from  rises  on  a  pyramid  of  ter- 
races at  the  mouth  of  a  smiling  valley  which  bears  the 
grim  name  of  Hounkyar  Iskelcsi  —  the  Landing-PIace 
of  the  Manslayer.  A  white  palace  crowns  the  pyramid, 
facing  the  long  river-like  vista  of  the  Bosphorus.  The 
palace  was  built  by  the  great  Mehmed  AH,  of  Egypt,  to 
whom  the  sultan  of  the  day  paid  the  honour  of  coming 
to  see  his  new  pleasure-house  and  of  expressing  his 
admiration  of  it.  The  viceroy  accordingly  assured  his 
majesty,  as  Oriental  etiquette  demands,  that  the  pakice 
and  everything  in  it  was  his.  Whereupon  his  majesty, 
to  the  no  small  chagrin  of  the  viceroy,  graciously  signi- 
fied his  acceptance  of  the  gift. 

Beikos  and  the  shores  of  its  great  bay  were  a  favour- 
ite resort  of  sultans  long  before  the  day  of  Mehmed 
Ali.  In  general,  however,  the  Turks  have  always  pre- 
ferred the  narrow  middle  stretch  of  the  Bosphorus;  and 
for  most  reasons  I  am  with  them.  The  summer  mdtem 
—  which  some  derive  from  the  Italian  maltempo  —  often 
intensely  irritating  near  the  mouth  of  the  Black  Sea,  is 
here  somewhat  tempered  by  the  windings  of  the  strait. 
Then  here  the  coasts  of  the  two  continents  approach 
each  other  most  closely,  are  most  gracefully  modelled 
and  greenly  wooded.  The  Asiatic  -  shore  in  particular, 
\vhich  opposite  Therapia  is  forbidding  enough,  is  here 
a  land  of  enchantment,  with  its  gardens,  its  groves,  its 


THE   GARDENS   OF   THE   BOSPHORUS    245 

happy  valleys,  its  tempting  points  and  bays,  its  sky-Ime 
of  cypresses  and  stone-pines,  its  weathered  wooden  vil- 
lages,  its  ruined  water-side  castle  of  Anadolou  Hissar, 
its  far-famed  Sweet  Waters  —  and  most  so  if  seen  from 
Europe  in  a  hght  of  sunset  or  early  morning.     If  Meh- 
med  Ah  lost  his  palace  at   Beikos  —  and  on  Arnaout- 
kyoi  Point  there  are  the  ruins  of  another  one  which  he 
was  stopped  from  building  —  several  of  the  most  envi- 
able estates  along, this  part  of  the  Bosphorus  belong  to 
his   descendants.     The   beautiful   wooded   cape   of  Chi- 
bouklou,  on    the    Asiatic    side,   is  crowned  by  the  mau- 
resque  chateau  of  the  present  Khedive.     Directly  oppo- 
site, on  the  southern  point  of  Stenia  Bay,  is  the  immense 
old   tumble-down   wooden   palace  of  his  grandfather  Is- 
mail, the  spendthrift   Khedive  of  the  Suez  Canal,   who 
died  there  in  exile.     The  garden  behind  it  is  the  largest 
and,  historically,  one  of  the  most  interesting  on  the  Bos- 
phorus.    The  name  of  the  bay  is  derived,  according  to 
one   story,    from   that   of  the   Temple   of  Sosthenia,   or 
Safety,   buih  by  the  Argonauts  after  their  escape  from 
King   Amycus.     A   temple   of  Hecate   was   also   known 
there  in  more  authentic  times,  and  a  church  dedicated 
to    the    Archangel   Michael    by   Constantine  the  Great. 
On  a  stormy  night  of  1352,  the  admirals  Nicolo  Pisani 
of  Venice   and    Paganino    Doria   of  Genoa    unwittingly 
took  shelter  in  the  bay  within  bow-shot  of  each  other, 
during  an  interval  of  a  long  sea-fight  which  raged  be- 
tween them  the  whole  length  of  the  Bosphorus.     Emir- 
gyan,  the   name  of  the  village    in  which   the   khedivial 
estate   is  situated,   was   that   of  a   Persian   general   who 
surrendered  Erivan  to  Sultan  Mourad  IV  in   1635,  and 
who  ended  his  days  in  pleasant  captivity  on  this  wooded 
shore.     His   beautiful    Persian    palace   of  Feridoun    was 
the   wonder   of  its   day.     His   conqueror   used   often   to 


246      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

visit  him  there,  for  Emirgyan  was  a  man  of  wit  and 
an  accomplished  musician.  Not  only  did  he  first  intro- 
duce into  Turkey  a  sort  of  Persian  bassoon  and  the 
four-stringed  Persian  charlar  from  which  we  get  our 
guitar,  but  he  marked  a  new  epoch  in  Turkish  music. 
There  were  also  other  reasons  why  Mourad  used  to 
visit  the  palace  of  Feridoun,  where,  "in  the  design  of 
refreshing  his  vital  spirits  and  of  summoning  the  warmth 
which  awakens  joy,  it  pleased"  the  Sultan  "to  give  rein 
to  the  Hght  courser  of  the  beverage  of  the  sunrise"  — 
as  a  discreet  historian  put  that  violent  young  man's 
propensity  to  strong  waters.  It  was  after  a  debauch 
here  that  he  died,  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight,  having 
beheaded  a  hundred  thousand  of  his  people  and  having 
entertained  a  strange  ambition  to  be  the  last  of  his  line. 
He  gave  orders  on  his  death-bed  that  the  head  of  his 
brother  Ibrahim,  the  last  surviving  male  of  his  blood, 
be  brought  to  him.  But  his  courtiers  took  advantage  of 
his  condition  to  dissemble  their  disobedience,  and  the 
imperial  family  to-day  springs  from  that  brother.  As 
for  the  luckless  Emirgyan,  he  saved  his  head  from  the 
elder  brother,  only  to  be  deprived  of  it  by  the  younger. 
At  Roumeli  Hissar,  still  farther  to  the  south,  is  a 
neglected  garden  which  belonged  to  Hahm  Pasha, 
brother  of  the  prodigal  Ismail.  In  it  are  two  unpre- 
tentious houses  which  look  as  if  they  were  built  of  brown 
stucco.  There  is  sentiment  in  that  stucco,  however, 
for  it  is  really  mud  brought  from  the  banks  of  the  Nile. 
According  to  the  law  of  Islam  Halim  would  have  been 
Khedive  in  turn  if  Ismail  had  not  bound  the  Turkish 
government,  by  a  substantial  quid  pro  quo,  to  make  the 
viceroyalty  hereditary  to  the  eldest- son  in  his  own  fam- 
ily. And  Halim  Pasha's  family  later  suffered  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  nearly  ruined  by  an   English  speculator. 


THE  GARDENS  OF  THE   BOSPHORUS    247 

But  there  is  one  spot  in  their  park  which  must  have 
gone  far  to  make  up  for  their  disinheritance.  It  is  the 
brow  of  a  bluff  which  seems  to  drop  sheer  into  the  Bos- 
phorus.  There  an  artful  group  of  cypresses  and  one 
gnarled  ohve  frame  the  blue  below;  and  there  on  sunny 
afternoons,  there  most  notably  on  starry  evenings,  when 
shore  hghts  curve  fantastically  through  the  underlying 
darkness  and  all  land  and  water  sounds  have  some  sum- 
mer magic  in  thern,  an  Antony  might  dream  away  con- 
tent the  loss  of  Egypt. 

Halim  Pasha  owned  another  splendid  garden  on 
Bebek  Bay.  Next  to  his  faded  pink  wooden  yali  in 
the  dignified  old  Turkish  style,  and  likewise  linked  by 
bridges  across  the  public  road  to  a  park  that  climbs 
the  hill  behind,  is  the  trim  art-nouveau  villa  of  the  ac- 
tual Khedive's  mother.  This  majestic  old  lady  is  one 
of  the  most  familiar  figures  on  the  Bosphorus.  Her 
annual  approach  and  departure  on  her  son's  big  tur- 
bine yacht  Mahroussah  are  the  signals  for  spring  and 
autumn  to  open  their  campaigns,  while  her  skimming 
mahogany  steam-launch  is  an  integral  part  of  sum- 
mer. She  is,  moreover,  a  person  whom  the  poor  of  her 
neighbourhood  have  cause  to  bless.  During  the  lenten 
month  of  Ramazan  she  provides  ijtar,  the  sunset  break- 
fast of  the  day,  for  any  who  choose  to  come  to  her  door. 
So  many  choose  to  come  that  during  that  month  her 
grocery  bills  must  be  quite  appalling.  And  on  occa- 
sions of  public  rejoicing  she  literally  keeps  open  house 
—  or  open  garden.  She  admits  any  and  all  within  her 
gates,  offers  them  coffee,  ices,  and  cigarettes,  and  enter- 
tains them  with  music. 

The  custom,  for  the  rest,  is  common  among  the 
Turks  at  all  times  of  festivity.  I  remember  going  one 
ni^ht    to    another    garden   in   Bebek,    not   by  invitation 


248      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

but  because  any  one  was  free  to  go  in  order  to  celebrate 
the  accession  day  of  his  majesty  Abd  ul  Hamid  IL  The 
garden  belonged  to  a  younger  brother  of  that  person- 
age, popularly  known  as  Cowherd  Solomon  Esquire. 
For  Turkish  princes  have  no  title  other  than  that  of  their 
humblest  subject.  A  band  was  playing  in  the  garden, 
which  is  on  the  very  top  of  Bebek  hill,  and  the  Greeks 
of  the  village  were  dancing  among  the  flower-beds, 
while  a  row  of  little  princes  and  princesses  in  big  gilt 
armchairs  looked  solemnly  on.  Beyond  them  a  cKimp 
of  huge  umbrella-pines  lifted  themseKx^s  darkly  against 
the  fairy  scene  of  the  illuminated  Bosphorus.  Every 
other  villa  was  outlined  in  hght,  the  water  burned  with 
reflections  of  architectural  designs  or  of  Arabic  texts  of 
fire,  and  the  far-away  hill  of  Chamlija  was  one  twinkling 
field  of  the  cloth  of  gold.  SCileiman  EfTendi  was  reported 
to  be  not  too  strong  in  the  head  but  to  make  up  for 
it  by  possessing  the  Evil  Eye  and  the  greatest  understand- 
ing of  cows  of  any  man  in  Constantinople.  Of  these  he 
kept  a  large  herd,  selling  their  milk  like  any  commoner; 
and  when  he  wished  to  add  to  their  number  no  man 
dared  refuse  to  sell  to  him.  If  he  did  the  cow  in  ques- 
tion was  sure  to  die  within  the  month  by  reason  of 
the  Evil  Eye  of  the  imperial  milkman.  Abd  iil  Hamid 
caused  this  eccentric  old  gentleman  much  unhappiness, 
tormenting  him  greatly  with  spies.  Siileiman  Effendi 
lived  long  enough  to  see  the  last  of  the  spies,  however, 
if  not  of  Abd  iil  Hamid.  And  he  must  have  been  not 
altogether  destitute  of  human  qualities,  for  his  wife 
died  of  grief  the  day  after  his  death. 

The  picturesque  bay  of  Bebek  and  the  opposite  head- 
land of  Kandilli  are  so  involved  with  historic  memories 
that  I  am  more  and  more  tempted  to  stray  out  of  my 
gardens.     Kandilli,  in   particular,   is    full    of  plane-trees 


THE   GARDENS   OF  THE   BOSHPORUS    249 

and  terraces  and  rows  of  stone-pines  to  prove  that  older 
generations  were  not  blind  to  its  enchantments.  Among 
other  sultans,  Mehmed  IV  spent  much  of  his  time  there. 
His  favourite  wife  was  the  lady  of  taste  and  determina- 
tion who  built  the  mosque  of  the  New  Mother  in  Scutari. 


The  Villa  of  the  Sun,  Kandilli 

Discovering  once  that  her  lord  spent  more  of  his  hours 
than_  she  found  proper  in  the  society  of  a  Circassian 
dancmg-girl,  she  caused  a  man  slave  of  her  own  to  be 
educated  m  the  terpsichorean  art  and  presented  him  to 
the  Sultan.  She  then  asked  one  night,  as  they  sat  at 
the  edge  of  the  water  at  Kandilli,  that  the  two  dancers 
perform  together  for  her  amusement.  The  slaves  ac- 
cordingly  danced   on   the   terrace   before   their   imperial 


2iO 


CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 


masters,  nearer  and  nearer  the  water,  till  the  man,  by  a 
seemingly  careless  thrust  of  his  foot,  tripped  his  com- 
panion into  the  Bosphorus.  She  was  immediately  car- 
ried away  into  the  dark  by  the  current,  here  extremely 
swift;  and  the  Sultana  doubtless  slept  the  more  sweetly, 
knowing  there  was  one  less  dancer  in  the  world. 

I  do  not  know  whether  the  imperial  villa  near  the 
boat  landing  that  was  torn  down  in  191 3  was  the  scene 
of  this  little  drama.  Yah  is  the  true  name  of  such  a 
country  house,  if  it  is  built,  as  it  should  be,  on  the  edge  of 
the  water,  with  gateways  letting  a  little  of  the  Bosphorus 
into  the  lower  hall  and  making  there  a  boat-house  and 
parte  cochcre  in  one.  In  every  country  place  of  any  size 
there  is  a  kyoshk  as  well,  otherwise  a  kiosk,  built  some- 
where in  the  garden  and  constituting  one  of  its  more 
formal  ornaments.  I  once  had  the  honour  of  being  re- 
ceived in  a  kiosk  belonging  to  a  member  of  the  imperial 
family,  which  was  larger  than  the  yali  to  which  it  be- 
longed. It  was,  alas,  no  such  place  as  I  have  read  of 
in  Lady  Mary  Montagu,  who  describes  a  room  built  by 
the  sultan  of  her  day  for  his  daughter,  **wainscottcd 
with  mother  of  pearl  fastened  with  emeralds  like  nails." 
She  also  speaks  of  wainscotting  of  "cedar  set  off  with 
silver  nails"  and '"walls  all  crusted  with  Japan  China," 
"the  whole  adorned  with  a  profusion  of  marble,  gilding, 
and  the  most  exquisite  painting  of  fruit  and  flowers." 
These  splendours  were  no  invention  of  Lady  Mary,  for 
many  other  visitors  testify  to  them,  as  well  as  Melling, 
Van  Mour,  and  all  their  school  of  painters  of  the  Bos- 
phorus. Those  villas  never  were  of  an  enduring  archi- 
tecture, and  the  spell  of  Europe  —  more  potent  than  ever 
for  us  was  that  of  the  gorgeous  East  —  has  been  more 
fatal  to  them  than  time  and  fire.  Still,  the  most  modern 
yah,  if  designed  by  an  architect  of  the  country,  almost 


THE  GARDENS  OF  THE   BOSPHORUS    251 

always  has  some  saving  touch  of  its  own.  And  in  the 
middle  Bosphorus  there  are  quite  a  number  of  houses 
which  preserve  the  graceful  old  architecture. 

The  number  of  those  which  preserve  even  a  remnant 
of  the  old  interior  decoration  is  much  more  limited.  One 
of  them  is  a  kiosk  at  Emirgyan  belonging  to  the  Sherijs  of 
Mecca.  And  it  is  quaint  to  see  what  an  air,  both  whim- 
sical and  distinguished,  that  faded  eighteenth-century 
decoration  gains  from  the  ugly  modern  furniture  set 
about  a  fountain  in  the  cross-shaped  saloon  of  those  de- 
scendants of  the  Prophet.  The  most  complete  example 
of  the  work  of  the  same  period  is  the  house  on  Arnaout- 
kyoi  Point  belonging  to  an  Armenian  family,  unmis- 
takable by  its  projecting  upper  stories  and  the  agree- 
able irregularity  of  its  silhouette.  Passers  along  the 
quay  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  high  rococo  ceiling  in 
rose  and  gold.  But  a  glimpse  of  a  more  perfect  ceiling 
is  to  be  caught  by  any  one  who  rows  up  the  Asiatic  shore 
from  Anadolou  Hissar  —  if  he  be  not  too  contemptuous 
of  certain  crazy  wooden  piles  which  his  caique  will  pass. 

This  ceihng,  and  the  whole  room  to  which  it  belongs, 
is  the  most  precious  thing  of  its  kind  in  all  Constantino- 
ple, if  not  in  all  the  world.  The  design  of  the  room  is 
that  of  the  earlier  Broussa  mosques,  a  T-shaped  arrange- 
ment with  the  top  of  the  T  in  the  garden  and  three 
square  bays,  slightly  raised  above  a  central  square, 
leaning  out  on  piles  above  the  water.  At  the  inter- 
section of  the  two  axes  stands  a  fountain,  with  a  cluster 
of  marble  stalactites  rising  from  a  filigree  marble  ped- 
estal, in  the  centre  of  a  shallow  square  tank  of  marble. 
On  the  garden  side,  where  the  door  is,  there  are  no 
windows,  but  a  series  of  cupboards  and  niches  of  some 
light  wood  once  delicately  inlaid  with  wavy  stems  and 
pointed  leaves.     On  the  water  side  an  unbroken  succes- 


-D" 


CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 


sion  of  windows,  not  very  tall  and  set  at  the  level  of 
the  divan,  look  north  and  west  and  south,  and  bring 
the  Bosphorus  like  a  great  sparkling  frieze  into  the  pa- 
vilion. They  also  make  the  water  light,  by  reflection, 
the  upper  part  of  the  room.  At  the  height  of  the  window 
tops   a   shelf,   sHghtly   carved   and   gilded,    runs   entirely 


An  eighteenth-century  villa  at  Arnaout-kyoi 


around  the  walls.  Above  that  rises  a  frieze  of  painted 
panels  in  which  tall  sprays  of  lilies  and  other  flowers 
stand  in  blue  and  white  jars,  each  in  a  pointed  arch 
and  each  framed  by  garlands  of  tiny  conventionalised 
flowers.  And  above  all  hangs  a  golden  ceiling,  domed 
over  the  fountain,  over  each  bay  hollowed  into  an  oblong 
recess,  lovely  with  latticework  and  stalactites  and  carved 
bosses  and  Moorish   traceries   of   interlaced   stars,    and 


THE  GARDENS  OF  THE   BOSPHORUS    253 

strange  border  loops  of  a  blue  that  echoes  the  jars  below  or 
the  sea  outside,  and  touches  of  a  deep  green,  and  exquisite 
little  flowers,  all  shimmering  in  a  light  of  restless  water. 


-UiO::  KZim-M^^^^r^mif. 


The  golden  room  of  Kyopriilii  Hussein  Pasha 

The  creator  of  this  masterpiece  was  that  great  friend 
of  the  arts  Kyopriilii  Hiissein  Pasha,  to  whose  medresseh 
in  Stamboul  I  have  already  referred.  His  yali  has  dis- 
appeared and  his  legendary  pleasure-grounds  are  now  a 
wilderness,   albeit  superlatively  pleasant  still   either    to 


254       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

look  into  or  to  look  out  of.  In  them  is  one  of  the  six- 
teen famous  springs  of  Hafid  Effendi.  Historic  garden- 
parties  were  given  in  this  garden,  and  ambassadors 
whom  sultans  dehghted  to  honour  were  taken  to  sit  in 
the  golden  room.  It  used  to  be  a  detached  kiosk  in 
Hussein  Pash^a's  garden.  In  modern  times  a  house  has 
been  added  to  it,  and  a  retired  provincial  governor  has 
inherited  the  fallen  splendour  of  the  Kyopriiliis.  Some 
day,  I  suppose,  it  will  all  go  up  in  smoke  or  tumble 
into  the  Bosphorus.  In  the  meantime  the  fountain  is 
still,  the  precious  marquetry  has  been  picked  out  of  the 
doors,  the  woodwork  cracks  and  sags,  the  bkie  jars  and 
the  flowers  become  more  and  more  ghostly,  the  gold  of 
the  ceiling  grows  dimmer  every  day.  But  even  so,  the 
golden  room  has  a  charm  that  it  can  never  have  had 
when  the  afternoon  sun  first  shimmered  into  it. 

The  gardens  of  the  lower  Bosphorus  are  in  many 
ways  less  picturesque  than  those  nearer  the  Black  Sea. 
The  hills  on  which  they  he  are  in  general  lower,  farther 
apart,  and  more  thickly  covered  with  houses.  With 
their  milder  air,  however,  their  more  Mediterranean  Hght, 
and  their  glimpse  into  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  they  enjoy 
another,  a  supreme,  advantage.  The  upper  Bosphorus 
—  well,  in  other  places  you  may  see  sharply  rising 
slopes  terraced  or  wooded.  Beside  the  Nordfjord,  the 
coast  of  Dalmatia,  or  Lake  Como,  where  would  the 
Bosphorus  be?  But  nowhere  else  may  j^ou  behold 
the  silhouette  of  Stamboul.  And  that,  pricking  the  sky 
above  its  busy  harbour,  just  not  closing  the  wide  per- 
spective that  shines  away  to  the  south,  is  the  unparal- 
leled ornament  of  the  gardens  of  the  lower  Bosphorus. 
The  garden  that  Melling  laid  out  for  the  princess  Hadijeh 
was  in  this  part  of  the  strait,  at  the  point  of  Defterdar 


THE   GARDENS   OF   THE   BOSPHORUS    255 

Bournou,  above  Orta-kyoi.  Abd  ul  Hamid,  who  to  his 
other  crimes  added  a  culpable  crudity  of  taste,  pulled 
down  the  princess's  charming  old  house  in  order  to  build 
two  hideous  new  ones  for  two  daughters  of  his  own.  Most 
of  the  finest  sites  in  the  neighbourhood,  or  on  the  oppo- 
site shore,  belong  or  have  belonged  to  different  mem- 
bers of  the  imperial  family.  Abd  ul  Hamid  himself  was 
brought  back  from  Salonica  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
Balkan  War  and  shut  up  in  the  Asiatic  garden  of  Bei- 
lerbei.  In  this  old  pleasance  of  the  sultans  Abd  ul 
Aziz  built  a  palace  for  the  empress  Eugenie  when  she 
went  to  the  East  to  open  the  Suez  CanaL  It  must  have 
been  strange  to  Abd  ul  Hamid  to  look  out  from  its  win- 
dows at  the  opposite  park  where  he  reigned  for  thirty- 
three  years.  The  city  of  palaces  which  grew  up  around 
him  there  was  never  known  otherwise  than  as  Yildiz 
Kiosk  — the  Pavilion  of  the  Star  — from  a  kyoshk  his 
father  built.  Another  pavilion  in  that  park,  also  visible 
from  Beilerbei,  is  the  xMalta  Kiosk,  where  Abd  ul 
Hamid's  older  brother  Alourad  passed  the  first  months 
of  his  long  captivity,  and  where  Alidhat  Pasha,  father 
of  the  Turkish  constitution,  was  iniquitously  tried  for 
the  murder  of  Abd  ul  Aziz.  In  the  pleasant  lower  hall 
of  this  little  palace,  almost  filled  by  a  marble  basin  of 
goldfish,  it  is  not  easy  to  reconstitute  that  drama  so 
fateful  for  Turkey  — which  did  not  end  when  Abd  iil 
Hamid  received  from  Arabia,  in  a  box  labelled  "Old 
Japanese  Ivory,"  the  head  of  the  murdered  patriot. 

The  park  of  Yildiz  originally  belonged  to  the  palace 
whose  name  of  Chira'an —  The  Torches  —  has  been  cor- 
rupted by  Europeans  into  Cheragan.  Only  a  ruin  stands 
there  now,  on  which  Abd  ul  Aziz  once  squandered  half 
the  revenues  of  the  empire.  He  stumbled  on  the  thresh- 
old the  first  time  he  went  into  his  new  house,  and  never 


256      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

would  Ii\c  in  it;  but  after  his  dethronement  lie  either 
committed  suicide  or  was  murdered  there.  His  suc- 
cessor, Mourad  V,  dethroned  in  turn  after  a  reign  of 
three  months,  lived  in  his  unhapj)y  uncle's  palace  for 
nearly  thirty  years.  Abd  ill  Hamid  is  said  to  have  kept 
his  brother  so  rigorously  that  the  ladies  of  the  family 
were  at  one  time  compelled  to  dress  in  the  curtains 
of  the  palace.  The  so-called  mad  Sultan,  deprixed  of 
books  and  even  of  writing  materials,  taught  his  children 
to  read  and  write  by  means  of  charcoal  on  the  parquet 
floor.  The  imperial  prisoner  occupied  the  central  rooms 
of  the  palace,  the  doors  leading  from  which  were  nailed 
up.  When  architects  were  called  after  his  death  to  put 
the  palace  in  order  they  found  a  foot  of  water  standing 
on  the  marble  floor  of  the  state  entrance,  at  the  north 
end;  and  street  dogs,  jumping  in  and  out  of  the  broken 
windows,  lived  in  the  magnificent  throne-room  above. 
Upon  his  own  dethronement,  Abd  ul  Hamid  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  retire  to  this  splendid  residence.  It  was 
presented,  instead,  to  the  nation  by  Sultan  Mehmed  V 
for  a  parliament  house.  But  after  two  months  of  occu- 
pancy as  such  it  was  destroyed  by  fire.  It  was  only 
the  last  of  many  palaces,  one  of  which  was  built  by 
Selim  III  and  in  -which  Melling,  again,  had  a  hand. 
The  name  Chira'an  goes  back,  I  believe,  to  the  time  of 
Ahmed  III,  whose  Grand  Vizier  and  son-in-law,  Ibrahim 
Pasha,  had  a  palace  there.  This  minister,  by  some 
reports  a  renegade  Armenian,  is  famous  in  Turkish  an- 
nals for  his  liberal  administration,  for  his  many  public 
buildings,  and  for  his  introduction  of  printing  into  the 
Ottoman  Empire.  Among  his  other  talents  was  one 
for  humouring  the  tastes  of  his  splendour-loving  master. 
Ibrahim  Pasha  gave  the  Sultan  one  night  at  Chira'an  a 
garden-party,   at  which   countless  tortoises,   with   lights 


THE   GARDENS   OF   THE   BOSPHORUS    257 

fastened   to   their   shells,    made    a    moving    illumination 
among  the  trees.     Whence  the  name  of  The  Torches. 

Ahmed  HI  gave  many  similar  entertainments  in  his 
own  gardens  on  Seragho  Point,  sometimes  fetes  of  hghts, 
sometimes  fetes  of  flowers.  Of  the  latter  he  had  such  an 
admiration  that  he  created  at  his  court  a  Master  of 
Flowers,  whose  credentials,  ornamented  by  gilt  roses, 
ended  thus:  "We  command  that  all  gardeners  recog- 
nise for  their  chief,the  bearer  of  this  diploma;  that  they 
be  in  his  presence  all  eye  like  the  narcissus,  all  ear  hke 
the  rose;  that  they  have  not  ten  tongues  Hke  the  Hly; 
that  they  transform  not  the  pointed  pistil  of  the  tongue 
into  the  thorn  of  the  pomegranate,  dyeing  it  in  the  blood 
of  inconvenient  words.  Let  them  be  modest,  and  let 
them  keep,  Hke  the  rosebud,  their  hps  closed.  Let  them 
not  speak  before  their  time,  Hke  the  bkie  hyacinth, 
which  scatters  its  perfume  before  men  ask  for  it.  Finally, 
let  them  humbly  incHne  themselves  before  him  Hke  the 
violet,  and  let  them  not  show  themselves  recalcitrant." 
The  tulip  does  not  seem  to  be  mentioned  in  this  docu- 
ment, but  the  culture  of  tuhps  under  Ahmed  HI  and 
his  congenial  Grand  Vizier  became  as  extravagant  a  rage 
as  ever  it  did  in  Holland.  Indeed,  tuHps  were  first  in- 
troduced into  the  Low  Countries  from  Constantinople, 
by  the  Fleming  Ogier  de  Busbecq,  ambassador  of  the 
Holy  Roman  Empire  to  Suleiman  the  Magnificent. 
Under  the  Latinised  form  of  his  name  he  has  left  a 
quaint  memoir  of  his  two  embassies.  The  word  tuhp 
is  a  corruption  of  the  Turkish  word  diilbend  —  turban  — 
which  was  a  favourite  nickname  of  the  flower  among 
the  Turks.  Ahmed  HI  always  celebrated  tuhp  time, 
inviting  the  grandees  of  the  empire  to  come  and  admire 
his  tuhp  beds.  He  devised  a  way  of  illuminating  them 
at  night  with  the  small  glass  cup  lamps  used  in  mosques. 


258       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

Mahmoud  I  was  of  a  taste  to  continue  this  pretty  cus- 
tom. He  also  laid  out  special  tulip  and  hyacinth  gar- 
dens behind  the  summer  palace  he  built  at  the  water's 
edge.  Alleys  of  cypress-trees  were  there,  and  a  great 
pool  of  marble,  and  about  it  the  slaves  of  the  harem 
would  sing  and  dance  in  the  fairy  light  of  the  illumi- 
nated flowers'. 

Nothing  is  left  now  of  this  garden,  or  the  palace  to 
which  it  belonged,  or  the  Gate  of  the  Cannon,  after  which 
they  were  named.  A  disastrous  fire  and  the  building 
of  the  Bulgarian  railway  long  made  a  waste  of  the 
tip  of  Seraglio  Point,  until  in  191  3  it  was  turned  into  a 
public  park.  Seraglio  Point  is  an  ItaHan  misnomer  for 
the  Turkish  Serai  Bournou  —  Pakice  Point.  But  a  pal- 
ace and  gardens  remain,  not  far  away,  and  to  them  has 
been  transferred  the  title  of  Top  Kapou  —  Cannon 
Gate.  Although  this  is  now  the  oldest  palace  in  Con- 
stantinople, the  name  of  Eski  Serai  —  the  Old  Palace  — 
belongs  to  the  site  of  that  older  one  which  the  Conqueror 
built  on  the  hill  of  the  War  Department.  He  was  the 
first,  however,  to  set  apart  Seraglio  Point  as  a  pleasure- 
ground  for  his  family,  and  he  built  the  Cbiiiili-Kyoshkt 
now^  of  the  Imperial  Museum.  His  son  and  grandson 
built  other  pavilions  of  their  own,  but  it  was  not  until 
the  reign  of  his  great-grandson  Suleiman  I  that  the 
court  w^as  definitely  transferred  to  the  Seraglio.  As  in 
the  Palace  of  Celestial  Purity  in  the  Forbidden  City,  no 
woman  had  up  to  that  time  been  permitted  to  sleep 
there.  And  it  is  perhaps  significant  that  the  decadence 
of  the  empire  began  very  soon  after  the  transfer  of  the 
harem  to  the  new  palace.  From  that  time  on  the  Old 
Palace,  whose  grounds  Suleiman  greatly  curtailed  to  make 
room  for  his  two  principal  mosques,  was  reserved  for  the 
families  of  deceased  sultans,  while  the  new  palace  was 


THE   GARDENS  OF   THE   BOSPHORUS    259 

continually  enlarged  and  beautified.     Something  legen- 
dary attaches  to  it  in  the  eyes  of  the  common  people, 
who  are  pleasantly   inclined  to  confuse   King  Solomon, 
the  friend  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  and  a  great  personage 
in  Mohammedan  folk-lore,  with  their  own  Sultan  Sulei- 
man.    A  soldier  from  Asia  Minor  related  to  me  once  how 
Sultan  Solomon  sent  out  four  birds  to  the  four  quarters 
of  heaven  to  discover  the  most  perfect  site  for  a  palace, 
and  how  they  came  back  with  the  news  that  no  place 
was  to  be  found  in  the  world  so  airy  or  so  beautiful  as 
Seraglio  Point.     He  accordingly  built  the  palace  of  Top 
Kapou.     And  beneath  it  he  hollowed  out  a  space  reach- 
ing far  under  the  sea  in  which  he  planted  a  forest  of  mar- 
ble pillars.     I  cannot  vouch  for  the  last  part  of  the  story, 
but  I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  the  Sultan's  birds.     Cer- 
tainly the  garden  of  the  Seraglio  has  its  superb  situation 
between  the  Golden  Horn  and  the  Marmora,  its  crescent 
panorama  of  cities,  seas,  and  islands,  and  its  mementoes 
of  the  past,  to  put  it  alone  among  the  gardens  of  the 
world.      Acropolis   of   ancient   Byzantium,   pleasance   of 
Roman,  Greek,  and  Ottoman  emperors  for  sixteen  hun- 
dred years,  it  is  more  haunted  by  associations  than  any 
other  garden  in  Europe.     One  could  make  a  library  alone 
of  the  precious  things  its  triple  walls  enclose:    the  col- 
umn of  Claudius  Gothicus,  the  oldest  Roman  monument 
in  the  city;   the   church  of  St.  Irene,  originally   built  by 
Constant ine,  whose  mosaics  look  down  as  Justinian  and 
Leo  left  them  on  the  keys  of  conquered  cities,  the  battle- 
flags  of  a  hundred  fields,  the  arms  and  trophies  of  the 
martial  period  of  the  Turks;    the  sarcophagus  of  Alex- 
ander, which  is  but  one  of  the  glories  of  the  museum; 
the  imperial  library,  where  the  xMS.  of  Critobulus  was 
discovered;    the  imperial  treasury,  with  its  jewels,  corns, 
rare    stuffs,    gemmed    furniture,   the    gifts    and    spoil    of 


26o      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

kings,  in  vaults  too  dim  and  crowded  for  their  splen- 
dour to  be  seen;  the  sacred  relics  of  the  Prophet  which 
SeHm  I  captured  with  Egypt  and  which  constitute  the 
credentials  of  the  sultans  to  the  caHphate  of  Islam. 
The  structure  in  which  these  are  preserved,  its  broad 
eaves  and  crusting  of  flowered  tiles  reflected  in  a  pool 
bordered  by  lanterns  to  be  lit  on  holy  nights,  is  one  of 
the  things  that  make  that  garden  incomparable.  Then 
there  are  quaint  turrets  and  doorways;  there  are  kiosks; 
there  are  terraces;  there  are  white  cloisters  a  Httle  grassy 
and  neglected;  there  are  black  cypresses  and  monstrous 
plane-trees  into  which  the  sun  looks  with  such  an  air  of 
antique  familiarity. 

Of  all  this  every  one  has  written  who  has  ever  been 
to  Constantinople.  But  not  many  have  written  of  a 
part  of  the  garden  which  until  the  fall  of  Abd  iil  Hamid 
almost  no  outsider  had  visited.  A  few  wrote  then  of 
the  strange  scene  which  took  place  there  when  the 
slaves  of  the  deposed  Sultan  were  set  at  liberty,  and 
any  Circassian  who  believed  himself  to  have  a  relative 
in  the  imperial  harem  was  invited  to  come  and  take 
her  away.  The  dramatic  contrasts  and  disappointments 
one  could  imagine  made  a  true  term  to  all  the  passion- 
ate associations  of  that  place.  No  one  lives  there  now. 
When  a  few  more  years  have  passed  and  no  breathing 
person  has  any  vital  memory  connected  with  it,  the 
harem  of  the  old  Seraglio  will  be,  like  how  many  other 
places  devised  by  a  man  to  house  his  own  life,  a  resort 
for  sightseers  at  so  much  a  head,  a  mere  piece  of  the 
taste  of  a  time.  As  it  is,  the  Gate  of  Felicity  does  not 
open  too  easily,  and  one  can  still  feel  the  irony  of  its 
name. 

The  entrance  to  the  harem  is  under  the  pointed  tower 
which  catches  the  eye  from  afar.     You  go  first  into  the 


THE   GARDENS   OF   THE   BOSPHORUS    261 

court  of  the  black  eunuchs,  narrow,  high-walled  on  one 
side,  overlooked  on  the  other  by  a  tiled  porch  and  by  a 
series  of  cells  which  never  can  have  been  light  enough  for 
the  tiles  that  line  them  to  be  visible.  A  great  hooded  fire- 
place terminates  the  dark  passage  into  which  they  open. 
Up-stairs  are  roomier  and  lighter  quarters,  also  tiled,  for 


Photograph  by  Abdullah  Frires,  Constantinople 

In  the  harem  of  the  Seraglio 

the  superior  dignitaries  of  this  African  colony.  A  few 
vestiges  of  their  power  remain  in  the  vestibule  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  court,  in  the  shape  of  various  instru- 
ments of  torture.  In  a  dark  angle  of  this  place,  which 
communicates  with  the  Court  of  the  Pages  and  the  Sul- 
tan's quarters,  a  lantern  hanging  behind  a  rail  marks 
where  the  old  valideh  Kyossem  was  strangled  with  a 
curtain   cord.     Tiles   of  the  same  period  as  her  mosque 


262      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

face  one  of  the  side  walls  with  an  elegant  row  of  cypress- 
trees.  Beyond  them  opens  another  court.  More  tiles 
are  there,  and  a  lane  of  turf,  where  only  the  Sultan  might 
ride,  leads  between  the  flagstones  to  a  marble  block. 
The  interior  of  the  harem  is  a  labyrinth  so  complicated 
that  I  would  have  to  visit  it  many  more  times  to  bring 
away  any  dear  idea  of  its  arrangement.  There  is  very 
little  of  what  we  would  call  splendour  in  those  endless 
rooms  that  sultan  after  sultan  added  to  without  order 
or  plan.  They  contain,  as  true  Turkish  rooms  should, 
almost  no  furniture.  What  furniture  they  do  contain 
is  late  Empire,  rather  the  worse  for  wear.  Ugly  Euro- 
pean carpets  cover  a  few  floors.  StufTy  European  hang- 
ings drape  a  few  windows.  Gilded  canopies  cover  a 
dais  or  two  where  a  valideh  soultan  held  her  court  — 
and  almost  the  whole  of  a  dark  cupboard  where  a  sul- 
tana did  not  disdain  to  sleep.  There  are  ceilings  more 
or  less  elaborately  carved  and  gilded.  There  are  big 
niches  for  braziers.  There  are  doors  inlaid  with  tor- 
toise-shell and  ivory  and  mother-of-pearl.  There  are 
wall  fountains,  some  of  them  lovely  with  sculptured 
reliefs  and  painting.  There  are  baths,  also  contain- 
ing fountains,  and  screens  of  filigree  marble,  and  mar- 
ble tanks.  There*  are,  above  all,  tiles  and  tiles  and 
tiles.  They  line  almost  all  the  rooms,  and  many  of 
them  are  very  bad.  The  new  fashion  in  taste  which 
Ahmed  III  imported  from  France  became  more  and 
more  popular  until  it  nearly  swallowed  up  the  whole 
palace.  Who  knows  what  priceless  walls  were  rifled 
in  order  to  make  room  for  cheap  Dutch  tiles  and  fres- 
coes of  imaginary  perspectives!  Porcelain  and  marble 
have  been  visibly  painted  over  in  some  places,  and 
panels  that  end  up-stairs  or  in  another  room  prove  how 
ruthlessly  partitions  were  put  up.     Yet  there  is  a  seduc- 


THE   GARDENS  OF  THE   BOSPHORUS    263 

ing  qiialntness  about  the  Turkish  rococo  at  its  best. 
And  there  are  enough  good  tiles  left  in  the  palace  to 
make  up  for  all  the  rest.  I  remember  some  simple  ones 
in  a  passage,  representing  nothing  but  the  tents  of  a 
camp,  and  several  showing  the  holy  places  of  Mecca. 
These,  I  believe,  were  of  the  time  of  Mehmed  HI.     0th- 


Photograph  by  Abdullah  Fr&res.  Constantinople 

The  "Cage"  of  the  Seraglio 

ers  are  absolutely  the  most  superb  things  of  their  kind 
in  Constantinople.  A  room  of  Mourad  HI,  the  gallery 
so  called  of  Sultan  Selim,  and  a  magnificent  hall  which 
Suleiman  himself  might  have  built,  if  he  did  not,  give 
an  idea  of  what  a  magic  place  that  old  laf^yrinth  may 
originally  have  been.  Two  rooms  of  Ahmed  I  are  also 
charming,  one  a  small  dining-room  delicately  painted 
with  fruit  and  flowers,  the  other  a  library,  with  inlaid 
cupboards  for  books  and  a  quantity  of  cool  green  tiles. 


264      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

Interesting  in  another  way  is  the  Kajess,  the  Cage,  where 
the  young  prinees  Hved  until  it  was  time  for  them  to 
ascend  the  throne  —  or  to  be  strangled.  Sultan  Ibra- 
him was  there  when  courtiers  came  to  do  homage  to 
him,  with  the  news  that  his  terrible  brother  Alourad 
IV  was  dead;  but  he  would  not  beheve  it  until  his 
mother,  the  great  Kyossem,  ordered  Mourad's  body  to 
be  shown  him.  The  broad  eaves  and  exterior  tiles  of 
the  Cage  overhang  a  court  of  two  levels,  through  the 
middle  of  whose  stone  pavement  a  fantastic  httle  river 
is  cut  for  running  water.  The  one  open  side,  guarded 
by  a  bakistrade  of  perforated  marble,  overlooks  a  sunken 
garden  and  a  bit  of  the  Golden  Horn.  And  I  remember 
another  court,  higher  in  the  air,  where  an  upper  story 
leaned  out  on  brackets,  as  if  for  a  better  view  of  the 
Bosphorus,  and  where  cherry-trees  stood  in  blossom 
around  a  central  pool. 


VIII 
THE   MOON   OF   RAMAZAN 

In  the  name  of  the  most  merciful  God:  Verily  we  sent  down  the  Koran 
in  the  night  of  A I  Kad'rr  And  what  shall  make  thee  understand  how  ex- 
cellent the  night  of  Al  Kad'r  is?  The  night  of  Al  Kad'r  is  better  than  a 
thousand  months.  Therein  do  the  angels  descend,  and  the  spirit  of  Gabriel 
also,  by  the  permission  of  their  Lord,  with  his  decrees  concerning  every 
matter.     It  is  peace  until  the  rising  of  the  morn.  —  Sale's  Koran. 

While  Ramazan  is  the  sole  month  of  the  Moham- 
medan ealendar  generally  known  to  the  infidel  world, 
the  infidel  world  has  never  been  very  sure  whether  to 
spell  its  last  syllable  with  a  (/  or  with  a  z.  Let  the 
infidel  world  accordingly  know  that  either  is  right 
in  its  own  domain.  The  Arabs  say  Ramadan,  the  Per- 
sians and  the  Turks  say  Ramazan.  And  they  all  ob- 
serve throughout  the  month  a  species  of  fast  that  has  no 
precise  counterpart  in  the  West.  So  long  as  the  sun  is 
in  the  sky,  food  or  drink  of  any  kind  may  not  pass  the 
true  believer's  lips.  He  is  not  even  allowed  the  sweet 
solace  of  a  cigarette.  But  from  the  firing  of  the  sunset 
gun  until  it  is  light  enough  to  distinguish  a  white  hair 
from  a  black  he  may  feast  to  surfeiting. 

Nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  late  afternoons  in 
Ramazan  than  the  preparations  for  the  evening  meal 
which  preoccupy  all  Moslems,  particularly  those  who 
work  with  their  hands.  As  the  sun  nears  the  horizon, 
fires  are  lighted,  tables  are  spread,  bread  is  broken, 
water  is  poured  out,  cigarettes  are  rolled,  and  hands  are 
lifted  half-way  to  the  mouth,  in  expectation  of  the  sig- 

26^ 


266      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

nal  that  gives  liberty  to  cat.  This  breaking  of  the  day- 
time fast  is  called  ijtar,  which  means  feast  or  rejoicing, 
and  is  an  institution  in  itself.  The  true  ijtar  begins 
with  hors-d'oeuvres  of  various  sorts  —  oHves,  cheese,  and 
preserves,  with  sweet  simits,  which  are  rings  of  hard 
pastry,  and  round  flaps  of  hot  unleavened  bread,  called 
pideh.  Then  should  come  a  vegetable  soup,  and  eggs 
cooked  with  cheese  or  pastirma  —  the  sausage  of  the 
country  —  and  I  know  not  how  many  other  dainties 
pecuHar  to  the  season,  served  in  bewildering  variety 
and  washed  down,  it  may  be,  with  water  from  the  sa- 
cred well  Zemzem  in  Mecca.  Any  Turkish  dinner  is 
colossal,  but  ijtar  in  a  great  house  is  well  nigh  fatal  to 
a  foreigner.  Foreigners  have  the  better  opportunity  to 
become  acquainted  with  them  because  Ramazan  is  the 
proverbial  time  for  dinner-parties.  The  rich  keep  open 
house  throughout  the  month,  while  the  poorest  make  it 
a  point  to  entertain  their  particukir  friends  at  ijtar. 
The  last  meal  of  the  night  also  has  a  name  of  its  own, 
sohour,  which  is  derived  from  the  word  for  dawn.  Watch- 
men patrol  the  streets  with  drums  to  wake  people  up  in 
time  for  it,  while  another  cannon  announces  when  the 
fast  begins  again. 

In  a  primitive  -community  like  that  of  the  Prophet's 
Arabia  and  in  a  climate  where  people  anyway  sleep  dur- 
ing much  of  the  day,  Ramazan  might  be  comparatively 
easy  to  keep.  Under  modern  conditions,  and  especially  in 
a  town  containing  so  large  an  alien  population  as  Con- 
stantinople, it  is  not  surprising  that  the  fast  is  somewhat 
intermittently  observed.  The  more  Europeanised  Turks 
make  no  pretence  of  fasting,  to  the  no  small  scandal 
of  their  servants.  Others  strengthen  their  resolution  by 
an  occasional  bite  in  private  or  a  secret  cigarette.  Every 
now  and  then  some  such  person  is  arrested  and  fined, 


THE   MOON   OF   RAMAZAN  267 

for  church  and  state  are  still  officially  one  in  Turkey,  and 
the  Sheriat  is  a  system  of  Blue  Laws  that  would  leave 
very  little  room  for  individual  judgment  if  it  succeeded 
m  altogether  having  its  way.  Those  who  are  most  con- 
scientious are  those  upon  whom  the  fast  falls  most 
heavily  —  peasants  and  workmen  who  cannot  turn  day 
and  night  about.  So  complete  a  derangement  of  all 
the  habits  of  life  naturally  has  its  effect.  No  one  who 
employs  Turks  or  does  business  with  them  can  get  any- 
thing done,  and  tempers  habitually  mild  grow  strained 
as  the  month  proceeds.  Thus  in  one  way  or  another 
does  Ramazan  continue  to  colour  the  whole  life  of  the 
cosmopolitan  city. 

Stamboul,   always  solemn    under   her   centuries    and 
proud  even  in  decay,  is  never  prouder  or  more  solemn 
than  when    illuminated   for  the   holy   month   of  Islam. 
It  is  one  of  the  sights  of  the  world  to  see  the  dark  city 
under  the  moon  of  Ramazan,  constellated  with  circlets 
of  light  that  bead  the  galleries  of  numberless  minarets. 
The  imperial  mosques  that  cut  out  so  superb  a  silhou- 
ette  above  the  climbing  roofs   have   two,   four,   or  six 
mmarets^  to  illuminate,   some  of  them   with  three  gal- 
leries apiece.     And  they  use  a  yet  more  magical  device. 
Lines  are  slung  between  minaret  and  minaret,  and  from 
them  are  suspended  small  glass  mosque  lamps  in  some 
decorative   order.     During  the   first   half  of  the   month 
they  spell,  as  if  in  sparks  of  gold,  a  simple  phrase  like 
''O  Allah!"   or   ''O   Mohammed!"     After  the  fifteenth 
they  often  trace  in  the  dark  sky  the  outline  of  a  flower 
or    a    ship.     There    is    something    starlike    about    these 
graceful    illuminations,    but    they    are    called    mahieh — 
moonlight. 

Theophile  Gautier  called  Ramazan  a  Lent  lined  with 
a  Carnival.     The  phrase  is  a  happy  one  if  it  does  not 


268      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

lead  the  reader  into  attributing  a  Latin  vivacity  to 
Turkish  merrymakings.  Ttie  streets  of  Stamboul,  ordi- 
narily so  deserted  at  night,  are  full  of  hfe  during  the 
nights  of  Ramazan,  But  their  gaiety  is  Httle  enough 
like  the  uproar  of  a  European  Carni\aL  Even  in  the 
busiest  centr.es  of  amusement,  where  a  carriage  or  even 
a  man  often  finds  difiiculty  in  passing,  there  is  none  of 
the  wild  hilarity  whereby  an  Occidental  must  express 
his  sense  of  the  joy  of  hfe.  The  people  stroll  quietly 
up  and  down  or  sit  quietly  in  the  coffee-houses,  making 
their  kcj  in  a  way  that  reveals  Turkish  character  on  its 
most  sympathetic  side.  They  are  practically  all  men. 
Early  in  the  evening  veiled  women  in  their  loose  street 
costume  may  sometimes  be  seen,  accompanied  by  a  ser- 
vant with  a  lantern.  But  as  the  hours  wear  on  they 
disappear,  leaving  only  fezzes  and  turbans  in  the  streets. 
Even  the  Christian  women,  who  also  inhabit  their  quar- 
ters of  Stamboul,  observe  the  custom.  It  is  the  rarest 
thing  in  the  world  for  an  Armenian  or  a  Greek  of  the 
poorer  classes  to  take  his  wife  out  with  him  at  night. 
The  coffee-houses  are,  perhaps,  the  most  charac- 
teristic feature  of  Stamboul  streets  during  the  nights 
of  Ramazan.  In  the  daytime  they  are  closed,  or  the 
purely  Turkish  ones  are,  as  there  is  then  no  scope  for 
their  activities.  They  are  open  all  night  long,  however. 
And  few  be  they  that  do  not  attempt  to  add  in  some 
Avay  to  their  customary  attractions.  This  is  often  ac- 
comphshed  in  a  simple  manner  with  the  aid  of  an  in- 
strument that  we  do  not  associate  with  the  East  —  I 
mean  the  gramophone,  which  enjoys  an  enormous  pop- 
ularity in  Constantinople.  There,  however,  it  has  been 
taught  to  utter  sounds  which  might  prevent  many  from 
recognising  an  old  friend.  I  confess  that  I  prefer  my- 
self the  living  executant  to  his  mechanical  echo.     One 


THE   MOON   OF   RAMAZAN       >        269 

never  has  to  go  far  during  Ramazan  to  find  him.  Itin- 
erant gipsies,  masters  of  pipe  and  tom-tom,  are  then 
much  in  evidence  in  the  humbler  coffee-houses.  There 
they  go,  two  and  two,  a  man  and  a  boy,  in  the  wide 
black  trousers,  the  dark-red  girdle,  and  the  ahiiost  black 
fez  which  they  affect.  In  larger  coffee-houses  there  will 
be  a  whole  orchestra,  so  called,  of  the  fme  lute,  if  one 
may  so  translate  its  Turkish  title  —  a  company  of 
singers  who  also  play  on  instruments  of  strange  names 
and  curves  that  suit  the  music  they  make.  One  such  in- 
strument, the  out,  is  ancestor  to  the  European  lute. 
There  are  those,  indeed,  who  find  no  music  in  the  broken 
rhythms,  the  mounting  minor,  of  a  harmony  which  the 
Russian  composers  have  only  recently  begun  to  make 
comprehensible  to  Western  ears.  For  myself,  I  know 
too  httle  of  music  to  tell  what  relation  it  may  bear  to 
the  antique  modes.  But  I  can  listen,  as  long  as  musi- 
cians will  perform,  to  those  infinite  repetitions,  that 
insistent  sounding  of  the  minor  key.  It  pleases  me  to 
hear  in  them  a  music  come  from  far  away  —  from  un- 
known river  gorges,  from  camp-fires  glimmering  on 
great  plains.  There  are  flashes,  too,  of  light,  of  song, 
the  playing  of  shepherds'  pipes,  the  swoop  of  horsemen, 
and  sudden  outcries  of  savagery.  But  the  note  to  which 
it  all  comes  back  is  the-  monotone  of  a  primitive  life, 
like  the  day-long  beat  of  camel  bells.  And  more  than 
all,  it  is  the  mood  of  Asia,  elsewhere  so  rarely  under- 
stood, which  is  neither  lightness  nor  despair. 

Dancing  is  not  uncommon  in  the  coffee-houses  of 
the  people  during  Ramazan.  Sometimes  it  is  performed 
by  the  gipsy  girls,  dressed  in  vivid  cotton  prints  and 
jingling  with  sequins,  who  alone  of  their  sex  are  immod- 
est enough  to  enter  a  coffee-house.  Dancing  boys  are 
oftener  the  performers  —  gipsies,  Greeks,  or  Turks  —  who 


270      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

perpetuate  a  custom  older  than  the  satyr  dances  of  India 
or  the  Phrygian  dances  of  Cybele.  Alimeh,  whence  the 
French  ahnec,  and  kocbek  are  the  technical  names  of 
these  not  too  respectable  entertainers.  Sometimes  the 
habitues  of  the  coffee-house  indulge  in  the  dancing  them- 
selves, if  they  are  not  pure  Turks,  forming  a  ring  and 
keeping  time  to  the  sound  of  pipe  and  drum.  Of  recent 
years,  however,  all  this  sort  of  thing  has  grown  rare. 
What  has  become  rarer  still  is  a  form  of  amusement 
provided  by  the  itinerant  story-teller,  the  mettagh,  who 
still  carries  on  in  the  East  the  tradition  of  the  troubadours. 
The  stories  he  tells  are  more  or  less  on  the  order  of  the 
Arabian  Nights,  and  not  very  suitable  for  mixed  com- 
panies —  which  for  the  rest  are  never  found  in  coffee- 
shops.  These  men  are  often  wonderfully  clever  at  char- 
acter monologue  or  dialogue.  They  collect  their  pay  at 
a  crucial  moment  of  the  action,  refusing  to  continue 
until  the  audience  has  testified  to  the  sincerity  of  its 
interest  by  some  substantial  token. 

A  more  elaborate  form  of  entertainment  is  provided 
by  coffee-houses  fortunate  enough  to  possess  a  garden 
or  some  large  back  room.  This  is  the  marionette  thea- 
tre, and  it  is  to  be  seen  at  no  other  time  of  the  year. 
The  Turkish  marionettes,  known  by  the  name  of  their 
star  performer,  Kara-gyoz,  are  a  national  institution.  In 
fact,  their  repertory  includes  almost  all  there  is  of  a 
national  theatre.  In  common  with  other  Asiatic  mar- 
ionettes, they  do  not  appear  in  person.  The  proscenium 
arch  of  their  miniature  stage  is  filled  with  a  sheet  of 
lighted  paper.  The  tiny  actors,  cleverly  jointed  together 
of  transparent  materials,  move  between  the  light  and 
the  paper,  so  that  their  coloured  shadows  are  all  that 
the  public  sees.  It  is  enough,  however,  to  offer  an 
amusement   worth    seeing.     The   theatre    of   Kara-gyoz 


THE   MOON  OF   RAMAZAN 


271 


would  make  an  interesting  study  in  itself,  reflecting  as 
it  does  the  manners  of  the  country.  Sometimes,  indeed, 
it  has  reflected  them  so  faithfully  as  to  require  the  inter- 
vention of  the  censor.  But  Kara-gyoz  himself,  other- 
wise Black-eye,  is  always  amusing,  whatever  may  be  his 
lapses  from  propriety.     This  truculent  individual  must 


A  Kara-gyoz  poster 


be  a  relative  of  Punch,  although  he  is  said  to  be  a  car- 
icature of  a  veritable  person,  one  of  Saladin's  viziers. 
He  is  a  humpback  with  a  black  beard  and  a  raucous 
voice,  to  whom  no  enterprise  is  too  difficult  or  too 
absurd.  He  is  accompanied  by  a  right-hand  man  who 
points  his  repartee  and  is  alternately  his  dupe  and  his 
deceiver.  The  adventures  of  this  amorous  pair  and  those 
of  the  crack-voiced  ladies,  the  brilliantly  costumed  gen- 


272      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND  NEW 

ticmen,  the  wonderful  dogs,  cats,  mice,  and  other  crea- 
tures that  go  to  make  up  the  company,  create  a  scene 
that  a  spectator  of  simple  tastes  wiHingly  revisits. 
Among  the  elements  of  his  pleasure  must  be  counted 
the  ill-hghted  barrack  or  tent  in  which  the  representa- 
tion takes  place,  the  gaily  dressed  children  composing 
the  better  part  of  the  audience  —  here,  for  once,  ladies 
are  allowed!^  the  loquacious  venders  of  sweets  and 
drinks,  and  the  music  of  pipe  and  drum  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  which  the  little  coloured  shadows  play  on 
their  lighted  paper. 

The  shadow  shows  are  by  no  means  the  only  species 
of  the  dramatic  art  to  tempt  the  audiences  of  Ramazan. 
There  are  full-grown  theatres  that  take  themselves,  the 
drama  —  everything  except  the  lives  of  their  patrons  — 
more  seriously.  They  are  perfect  fire-traps  wherein  the 
play's  the  thing,  innocent  as  they  in  great  part  are  of 
those  devices  of  upholstery  which  are  the  chief  pride  of 
the  modern  stage.  The  pit  is  ahgned  with  rush-bottomed 
stools  and  chairs,  above  which  rise,  in  the  European  fash- 
ion, tiers  of  not  too  Sybaritic  boxes.  A  particularity  of 
them  is  that,  like  the  cafes  and  the  streets,  they  con- 
tain no  ladies.  While  there  are  Turkish  theatres  which 
ladies  attend  in  the  daytime,  it  is  contrary  to  custom 
for  ladies  to  take  part  in  pubhc  entertainments  at  night. 
Consequently  the  European  ladies  who  sometimes  pene- 
trate Stamboul  during  the  nights  of  Ramazan  make  them- 
selves more  conspicuous  than  is  hkely  to  be  pleasant 
and  the  objects  of  comment  which  it  is  well  that  they 
do  not  understand.  Women  do  appear  on  the  stage, 
but  they  are  never  Turks.  They  are  usually  Armenians, 
occasionally  Syrians  or  Greeks,  whose  murder  of  the 
language  is  condoned  by  the  exigencies  of  the  case. 
The  performances  last  the  better  part  of  the  night. 


THE   MOON   OF   RAMAZAN  273 

They  begin  at  three  o'clock  Turkish,  or  three  hours  after 
sunset  at  any  season  of  the  year,  and  close  in  time  for  the 
last  meal  of  the  night.  There  is  a  curtain-raiser,  which 
is  not  seldom  drawn  from  the  manners  of  the  people. 
The  piece  of  resistance,  however,  is  a  comedy  or  melo- 
drama adapted  from  the  European  stage.  The  first  is 
more  likely  to  be  interesting  to  an  outsider,  for  the 
Turks  are  capital  comedians.  But  the  more  serious 
pieces  are  characteristic,  too,  in  their  mixture  of  East 
and  West.  Madam  Contess,  as  she  is  flatly  pronounced, 
will  be  attended  by  servants  in  fez  and  shalvars,  and 
two  gentlemen  in  top  hats  will  salute  each  other  with 
earth-sweeping  salaams. 

Between  the  two  plays  intervene  a  couple  of  hours 
or  so  of  singing  and  dancing  that  are  to  many  the  meat 
in  the  sandwich.  These  entertainments  are  also  highly 
characteristic  of  the  city  that  straddles  two  continents. 
The  costume  of  the  performers  is  supposably  European, 
although  no  Western  ahnee  would  consent  to  be  encum- 
bered with  the  skirts  and  sleeves  of  her  Armenian  sister, 
or  let  her  locks  hang  so  ingenuously  down  her  back. 
She  would  also  be  more  scrupulous  with  regard  to  her 
colour  schemes.  Whatever  the  tint  of  their  costume, 
the  hallerine  of  Stamboul  cherish  an  ineradicable  par- 
tiahty  for  pink  stockings.  ■  As  feminine  charm  increases, 
to  the  eye  of  an  Oriental  admirer,  in  direct  proportion 
to  the  avoirdupois  of  the  charmer,  the  effect  is  some- 
times startling. 

The  entertainment  offered  by  these  ladies  is  more  of 
the  East  than  of  the  West.  It  is  a  combination  of  song 
and  dance,  accompanied  by  strings  and  the  clapping  of 
the  Castanet.  The  music  is  even  more  monotonous,  in 
the  Hteral  sense  of  the  word,  than  that  of  the  fine  hite. 
To  the  tyro  one  song  sounds  exactly  like  another,  each 


274      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

beginning  on  the  same  high  note  and  each  glissaiido  to 
the  same  low  one.  And  you  are  inchned  to  protest  that 
a  lady  suffering  from  so  cruel  a  cold  should  never  be 
permitted  to  leave  her  room,  much  less  appear  in  pink 
stockings  at  midnight  on  a  ramshackle  wooden  stage. 
But  there  is  a  melancholy  passion  in  those  endless  love- 
songs  that  haunts  the  memory  —  at  least  of  most  of 
those  present,  who  listen  in  the  silence  of  perfect  appre- 
ciation. The  dancing  into  which  each  song  dies  away 
has  been  a  little  more  tampered  with  by  the  West. 
While  the  basis  of  it  is  the  Arab  danse  du  ventre,  it  is  a 
danse  du  ventre  chastened  by  the  cult  of  the  toe.  What 
there  may  be  of  grossness  about  it  is  pleasantly  tem- 
pered for  an  occasional  spectator  by  the  personal  equa- 
tion. I  remember  w^atching,  once,  an  almee  who  must 
have  been  in  her  prime  before  many  of  her  pubhc  were 
in  their  cradles.  But  they  had  grown  up  in  her  tradi- 
tion, and  cries  of  "One  more!"  greeted  each  effort  of 
her  poor  old  cracked  voice.  There  was  nothing  pitiable 
about  it.  The  audience  had  a  frank  affection  for  her, 
independent  of  her  overripe  enchantments,  and  she 
danced  terrible  dances  for  them,  eyes  half  shut,  with 
a  grandmotherly  indulgence  that  entirely  took  away 
from  the  nature  of  what  she  was  doing. 

So  popular  is  this  form  of  entertainment  that  it  is 
thrown  in  as  a  sop  to  sweeten  most  of  the  variety  per- 
formances with  which  Ramazan  abounds.  The  street 
of  Stamboul  where  the  theatres  cluster  is  a  perfect 
Bowery  of  cinematographs,  music-halls,  shooting-gal- 
leries, acrobatic  exhibitions,  and  side-shows  of  a  coun- 
try circus.  But  it  is  a  Bowery  with  the  reputation  of 
Broadway,  and  a  picturesqueness  that  neither  can  boast. 
Part  of  the  picturesqueness  it  had  when  I  first  knew  it 
has  gone  —  in  the  shape  of  the  quaint  arcades  that  lined 


THE   MOON   OF   RAMAZAN 


275 


one  stretch  of  It.  But  the  succession  of  bright  little 
coffee-houses  remains,  and  the  white  mosque,  ethereal 
at  night  among  its  dark  trees,  that  Suleiman  the  Mag- 
nificent built  in  memory  of  his  dead  son.  Crowds  and 
carriages  abound  in  Shah-zadeh-Bashi  until  two  o'clock 


Wrestlers 


in  the  morning,  itinerant  peddlers  of  good  things  to  eat 
and  drink  call  their  wares,  tom-toms  beat,  and  pipes  cry 
their  wild  invitation  to  various  smoky  interiors. 

One  interior  to  which  they  invite  is  the  open  space, 
enclosed  by  green  tent-cloth  and  not  too  brlHIantly 
hghted,  where  may  be  seen  the  great  Turkish  sport  of 
wrestling.  Spectators  of  distinction  are  accommodated 
with  chairs  under  an  awning;  the  others  squat  on  their 
heels   around  the  ring.     The  wrestlers,   sometimes  sev- 


276      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

eral  pairs  at  a  time,  appear  barefooted,  in  leather  breeches 
reaching  Just  below  the  knee.  Their  first  act,  if  you 
please,  is  to  anoint  themselves  from  head  to  foot  with 
oil.  That  done,  each  couple  stand  side  by  side,  join 
right  hands,  and  bend  with  the  right  foot  forward,  while 
an  old  man  recites  over  them  some  incomprehensible  ru- 
bric, giving  their  names  and  recommending  them  to  the 
suffrage  of  the  public.  They  then  prance  forward  to 
the  tent  of  honour,  alternately  clapping  their  hands  and 
their  leather  legs.  There  they  kneel  on  one  knee  and 
salaam  three  times.  Finally,  after  more  prancing  and 
slapping,  during  the  course  of  which  they  hastily  shake 
hands  once  as  they  run  past  each  other,  they  are  ready 
to  begin.  They  do  so  by  facing  each  other  at  arm's 
length,  putting  their  hands  on  each  other's  shoulders 
and  bending  forward  till  their  heads  touch.  They  make 
no  attempt  at  clinching.  That  is  apparently  the  one 
hold  forbidden.  The  game  is  to  throw  their  opponent 
by  pushing  his  head  down  till  they  can  get  him  around 
the  body  or  by  catching  at  his  legs.  Slippery  as  the 
wrestlers  are  with  oil,  it  is  no  easy  matter.  Time  after 
time  one  will  seem  to  have  his  man,  only  to  let  him 
wriggle  away.  Then  they  go  at  each  other  again  with 
a  defiant  "Ho-ho!''  The  trick  is  generally  done  in  the 
end  by  getting  hold  of  the  breeches.  When,  at  last,  one 
of  the  two  is  thrown,  the  oily  opponents  tenderly  em- 
brace and  then  make  a  round  of  the  ring  collecting  tips. 
Celebrated  wrestlers,  however,  collect  their  money  first. 
The  scene  is  picturesque  enough  under  the  moon  of 
Ramazan,  with  the  nude  figures  glistening  in  the  lamp- 
light, the  dimmer  ring  of  faces  encircling  them,  and  the 
troubled  music  of  pipe  and  drum  mounting  into  the  night. 
I  must  beware  of  giving  the  impression  that  Rama- 
zan is  merely  a  holiday  season.     It  is  a  holy  month,  and 


THE   MOON   OF   RAMAZAN  277 

during  its  term  religious  zeal  rises  higher  than  at  any 
other  time.  It  is  enjoined  upon  the  faithful  to  read  the 
Koran  through  during  Ramazan,  and  to  perform  other 
meritorious  deeds.  The  last  prayer  of  the  day,  which 
occurs  two  hours  after  sunset,  takes  on  a  special  signif- 
icance. Ordinarily  known  as  yassi,  it  is  then  called 
teravi  —  repose  —  and  in  place  of  the  usual  five  prostra- 
tions twenty-two  are  performed.  The  ungodly  say  that 
this  is  to  aid  the  digestion  of  those  who  have  just  eaten 
a  heavy  ijtar.  Preaching  also  takes  place  every  night  in 
the  mosques,  and  many  of  the  services  are  attended  by 
women.  This  custom  was  utihsed  during  the  Ramazan 
of  1326,  otherwise  1908,  for  enlightening  the  provinces 
on  the  subject  of  the  constitution,  as  it  was  in  the  capi- 
tal for  various  attempts  to  subvert  the  same. 

Two  dates  in  the  month  have  a  particular  impor- 
tance. On  the  earlier  of  these,  the  fifteenth,  takes  place 
the  ceremony  of  kissing  the  Prophet's  mantle.  It  used 
to  be  one  of  the  most  picturesque  spectacles  of  the  city. 
It  still  must  be  for  those  fortunate  enough  to  enter  the 
Chamber  of  the  Noble  Robe  in  the  Seraglio.  I  have 
never  done  so,  nor  has  any  other  Christian  unless  in  dis- 
guise. This  is  the  place  where  the  relics  of  the  Prophet 
are  kept  —  his  cloak,  his  banner,  his  sword,  his  bow, 
his  staff,  one  of  his  teeth,  and  several  hairs  of  his  beard. 
One  of  the  last  has  occasionally  been  given  away  as  a 
mark  of  the  highest  possible  honour.  The  swords  and 
other  relics  of  the  first  three  caliphs  and  of  the  com- 
panions of  the  Prophet  are  also  preserved  there,  together 
with  a  silver  key  of  the  Kaaba.  The  most  important 
arc  the  Sacred  Standard,  which  used  to  lead  the  Sultan's 
armies  to  war,  and  the  Sacred  Mantle.  This  was  given 
by  Mohammed  to  a  poet  of  his  day,  who  composed  the 
celebrated   ode    in    honour   of  the    Prophet    entitled   Al 


278      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

Borda  —  The  Mantle.  When,  reciting  it  for  the  first 
time,  he  came  to  the  verse,  "For  the  Prophet  is  a  sword, 
drawn  from  the  scabbard  of  God,"  Mohammed  threw 
his  own  cloak  over  his  shoulders.  The  poet  religiously 
preserved  the  gift  and  handed  it  down  to  his  descen- 
dants, who  performed  miracles  with  the  water  into  which 
they  dipped  it. 

To  house  these  treasures  Suhan  Sehm  I,  who  cap- 
tured them  among  the  spoils  of  Cairo,  built  a  paviHon 
in  the  grounds  of  the  Seragho,  which  was  restored  and 
enlarged  at  immense  cost  by  Mahmoud  L  Those  who 
have  seen  it  say  that  the  Chamber  of  the  Noble  Robe 
is  a  great  domed  room  Hned  with  magnificent  tiles,  and 
that  the  sacred  relics,  under  a  sort  of  silver  baldacchino, 
are  kept  behind  a  wrought-silver  screen  in  a  chest  of 
beaten  gold.  The  ceremony  of  opening  them  is  per- 
formed by  the  Sultan  in  person,  who  is  supposed  to  over- 
see the  necessary  preparations  on  the  fourteenth,  and 
who,  on  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth,  goes  in  state  to  the 
Seraglio  accompanied  b}'  the  members  of  his  family  and 
the  grandees  of  the  empire.  The  mantle  is  said  to  be 
wrapped  in  forty  silk  covers.  Whether  all  of  them  or  any 
of  them  are  removed  for  the  ceremony  I  cannot  say.  At 
all  events,  those  who  attend  it  are  given  the  privilege  of 
kissing  the  rehc,  in  order  of  rank.  Each  time  the  spot 
is  wiped  w^ith  a  silk  handkerchief  inscribed  with  verses 
from  the  Koran,  which  is  then  presented  to  the  person 
whose  kiss  it  removed.  At  the  end  of  the  ceremony 
the  part  of  the  mantle  or  of  its  cover  which  received 
the  homage  of  those  present  is  washed  in  a  silver  basin, 
and  the  water  is  preserved  in  ornamental  bottles  for  the 
Sultan  and  a  few  other  privileged  persons.  A  drop  of  this 
water  is  considered  highly  efficacious  against  all  manner 
of  ills,  or  is  a  much-prized  addition  to  the  drinking  water 


THE   MOON   OF   RAxMAZAN  279 

of  ijtar.  The  ceremony  is  repeated  for  the  benefit  of 
the  ladies  of  the  palace  and  other  great  ladies.  And  a 
sort  of  replica  of  it  takes  place  in  the  mosque  of  Hekim- 
zadeh  Ali  Pasha,  in  the  back  of  Stamboul,  where  a  sec- 
ond mantle  of  the  Prophet  is  preserved. 

Mohammedan  doctors  have  greatly  disagreed  as  to 
the  most  important  date  of  Ramazan.  The  Turks,  at 
all  events,  now  celebrate  it  on  the  twenty-seventh.  They 
then  commemorate  the  night  when  the  Koran  was  sent 
down  from  the  highest  heaven  to  the  lowest  and  when 
Gabriel  began  to  make  revelation  of  it  to  the  Prophet. 
Mohammedans  also  beheve  that  on  that  night  are  issued 
the  divine  decrees  for  the  following  year.  They  call  it  the 
Night  of  Power,  after  the  ninety-seventh  chapter  of  the 
Koran,  and  keep  it  as  one  of  the  seven  holy  nights  of 
the  year.  Consequently,  there  is  little  to  be  seen  in  the 
pleasure  resorts  of  Stamboul  on  the  Night  of  Power  — 
which,  as  foreigners  are  inclined  to  forget,  is  the  eve 
of  the  anniversary.  Most  people  spend  the  evening  in 
the  mosques.  A  special  service  takes  the  place  of  the 
usual  prayer,  and  after  it  the  larger  congregations 
break  up  into  a  series  of  groups  around  mollabs,  who 
expound  the  events  of  the  sacred  day. 

On  that  one  night  of  the  year  the  Sultan  goes  to 
prayer  outside  of  his  palace.  The  state  with  which 
he  docs  so  is  a  sight  to  be  seen,  being  a  survival  of 
a  curious  corollary  of  the  tradition  of  the  day.  An 
old  custom  made  it  obligatory  upon  the  Sultan  to 
take  a  new  wife  on  the  Night  of  Power,  in  the  hope 
that,  as  the  divine  gift  of  the  Koran  had  come  down 
on  that  night  to  Mohammed,  so  to  his  Caliph  would 
heaven  send  an  heir.  Despite  the  solemnity  of  the 
occasion,  therefore,  the  imperial  progress  to  the  mosque 
partakes  of  the  nature  of  a  gala  procession.     This  was 


28o      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

particularly  so  in  the  time  of  Abd  iil  Hamid,  who  de- 
\outIy  maintained  the  customs  of  his  fathers.  I  hap- 
pened to  see  the  last  of  the  processions  with  which  he 
went  out  on  the  Night  of  Powder.  The  short  avenue 
leading  from  Yildiz  Palace  to  the  Hamidieh  mosque 
was  lined  with  arches  and  loops  of  light,  the  mosque 
itself  w^as  outlined  with  little  oil-lamps,  and  the  dip 
beyond  was  ilkiminated  by  Arabic  texts  and  architec- 
tural designs.  The  effect  was  fairyhke  against  the  dark 
background  of  the  harbour  and  the  city,  twinkhng  with 
the  dim  gold  of  far-away  masts  and  minarets.  While 
the  crowd  was  smaller  than  at  the  ordinary  Friday 
selarnlik,  the  police  precautions  were  even  stricter.  But 
Turkish  police  have  their  own  way  of  enforcing  regula- 
tions. I  remember  a  young  man  in  a  fez  w^ho  approached 
the  mosque  too  closely.  A  gorgeous  officer  went  up  to 
him:  "My  bey,  stand  a  Httic  down  the  hill,  I  pray 
you."  The  young  man  made  an  inaudible  reply,  evidently 
an  objection.  The  gorgeous  officer:  *'My  brother,  I 
do  not  reprimand  you.  I  pray  you  to  stand  a  little 
down  the  hill.  It  is  the  order.  What  can  I  do,  my 
child?"  The  young  man  stood  a  little  down  the  hill. 
Presently  other  young  men  came,  to  the  sound  of  music, 
their  bayonets  glittering  in  the  lampHght.  Some  of 
them  were  on  horseback,  and  they  carried  long  lances 
\vith  red  pennons.  They  lined  the  avenue.  They  blocked 
up  the  cross  streets.  They  surrounded  the  mosque.  Be- 
fore the  last  of  them  were  in  place  the  Palace  ladies, 
spectators  of  all  pageants  in  which  their  lord  takes  part, 
drove  dowm  and  waited  in  their  carriages  in  the  mosque 
yard.  For  some  of  them  too,  possibly,  this  was  an 
anniversary.  Finally,  the  voice  of  the  miiezin  sounded 
from  the  ghostly  minaret.  In  his  shrill  sweet  minor 
he  began  to  chant  the  ezan  —  the  call  to  prayer.      Then 


THE   MOON   OF   RAxMAZAN 


281 


bands  broke  into  the  Hamidieh  march,  fireworks  filled 
the  sky  with  coloured  stars  and  comets'  tails,  and  the 
imperial  cortege  poured  from  the  palace  gate 


a  moi 


Drawn  by  E.  M.  Ashe 

The  imperial  cortege  poured  from  the  palace  gate 

of  uniforms  and  caparisons  and  big  white  wedding  lan- 
terns, scintillating  about  a  victoria  draw^n  by  two  superb 
white  horses.  The  man  on  the  box,  magnificent  in  scar- 
let and  gold,  was  a  more  striking  figure  than  the  pale, 
bent,  hook-nosed,  grey-bearded  man  in  a  military  over- 


282      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

coat  behind  him,  who  sakitcd  in  response  to  the  sol- 
diers' ''Padisham  chok  yasha  /"  The  proeession  wheeled 
into  the  mosque  yard,  and  majesty  entered  the  mosque. 
For  an  hour  fireworks  exploded,  horses  pranced,  and 
the  crowd  circulated  very  much  at  its  will,  while  a  high 
sweet  chanting  sounded  at  intervals  from  within.  Then 
majesty  reappeared,  mob  and  wedding  lanterns  and  all, 
the  soldiers  shouted  again,  and  the  tall  white  archway 
once  more  received  the  Caliph  of  Lslam. 

What  takes  place  within  the  mosque,  and,  I  suppose, 
within  all  mosques  on  the  Night  of  Power,  Christians 
are  generally  allowed  to  watch  from  the  gallery  of  St. 
Sophia.  The  sight  is  most  impressive  when  the  spec- 
tators arc  most  limited  in  number  —  as  was  the  case 
the  first  time  I  went,  ostensibly  as  a  secretary  of  em- 
bassy. But  I  must  add  that  I  was  considerably  im- 
pressed by  the  fact  that  another  spectator  was  pointed 
out  to  me  as  Sir  Arthur  Conan  Doyle!  Of  course  the 
place  itself  contributes  chiefiy  to  the  efi'ect.  Its  huge- 
ness, its  openness,  its  perfect  proportion,  its  reachmg 
of  pillar  into  arch,  of  arch  into  vault,  of  vault  into  dome, 
make  an  interior  that  predisposes  to  solemnity.  The 
gold  mosaic  that  was  once  its  splendour  is  now  largely 
hidden  under  the  'colour  wash  of  the  modern  restorer, 
but  the  Night  of  Power  brings  out  another  gold.  The 
cornices  of  the  three  galleries,  the  arches  of  the  first, 
the  vast  space  of  the  nave,  are  illuminated  by  thousands 
of  wicks  whose  soft  clear  burning  in  glass  cups  of  oil 
is  reflected  by  the  precious  marbles  of  the  walls.  You 
look  down  from  the  gallery  through  a  haze  of  light 
difi^used  by  the  chandeliers  swinging  below.  These, 
irregularly  hung  about  three  central  chandeliers,  are 
scalloped  like  flowers  of  six  petals.  They  symbolise  the 
macrocosm,   I  believe,  but  they  might  be  great  water- 


THE   MOON   OF   RAMAZAN  283 

lilies,  lloating    in  their   medium  of  dusky  gold.     Under 
them  the  nave  is  striated  by  lines  of  worshippers,  their 
darkness  varied   by  the  white  of  turban  or  robe,   men 
all,   all   shoeless,   standing   one   close  to   the   next   with 
hands  folded  and  heads  down.     There  is  not  an  excep- 
tion to  the  universal  attitude  of  devotion  —  save  among 
the    chattering    spectators.     The   imam,    from   his   high 
hooded  pulpit  with  the  sword  and  the  banners  of  con- 
quest, recites  the  prayers  of  the  evening.     Choirs,  sittmg 
cross-legged  on  raised   platforms,  chant   responses   from 
the  Koran  in  a  soaring  minor  that  sounds  like  the  very 
cry   of  the   spirit.     Every    now   and   then    a   passionate 
''Allah!"    breaks    out    or    a  deep   ''amin''    reverberates 
from  the  standing  thousands.     The  long  lines  bow,  hands 
on  knees,  and  straighten  again.     Once  more  they   bow, 
drop  to  their  knees,  bend  forward  and  touch  their  fore- 
heads to  the  ground,  with  a  long   low  thunder  that  rolls 
up  into  the  dome.     The  Temple  of  the  Divine  Wisdom 
can  rarely   have  witnessed  a  more  moving  spectacle  of 
reverence  and  faith. 


IX 

MOHAMMEDAN   HOLIDAYS 

In  nothing  is  the  natural  soberness  of  the  Turk  more 
manifest  than  in  his  hoHcIays.  He  keeps  fewer  of  them 
than  his  Christian  compatriot,  and  most  of  them  he 
celebrates  in  such  a  way  that  an  outsider  would  scarcely 
suspect  the  fact.  This  is  partly,  perhaps,  a  matter  of 
temperament,  and  partly  because  Islam  has  not  yet 
passed  a  certain  stage  of  evolution.  A  hoHday,  that  is, 
is  still  a  holy  day.  Secular  and  patriotic  festivals  are 
everywhere  of  comparatively  recent  origin.  In  Turkey, 
w^here  church  and  state  are  one  to  a  degree  now  unknown 
in  Western  countries,  there  was  no  real  national  holiday 
until  1909.  Then  the  Hrst  anniversary  of  the  re-estab- 
Kshment  of  the  constitution  was  celebrated  on  the  23d 
of  July  (July  10,  old  style).  A  highly  picturesque  cele- 
bration it  was,  too,  in  Constantinople  at  least,  with  its 
magnificent  array  'of  rugs  and  mediaeval  tents  on  the 
Hill  of  Liberty,  its  review  of  troops  by  the  Sultan,  its 
procession  of  the  guilds  of  the  city,  and  its  evening  il- 
luminations. 

Illuminations,  however,  were  not  invented  by  the 
constitution.  Long  before  a  23d  or  a  4th  of  July  were, 
the  splendour-loving  Sultan  Ahmed  III  discovered  how 
unparalleled  a  theatre  for  such  displays  were  the  steep 
shores  of  the  Golden  Horn  and  the  Bosphorus.  The 
accession  day  of  the  reigning  sovereign  made  an  annual 
occasion  for  great  families  to  set  their  houses  and  gar- 

2S4 


MOHAMMEDAN   HOLIDAYS  285 

dens  on  fire  with  an  infinity  of  little  oil-lamps  and,  in 
all  litcralness,  to  keep  open  house.  This  was  the  one 
purely  secular  holiday  of  the  year  —  unless  I  except 
the  day  of  Hid'r  Eless.  I  have  already  pronounced  the 
name  of  this  mysterious  divinity,  who  is  also  called 
Hizir,  and  whom  Mohammedan  legend  associates  with 
the  Fountain  of  Life  and  with  the  change  of  the  seasons. 
He  is  a  distant  relative  of  the  prophet  Elijah,  of  the  god 
Apollo,  and  I  suspect  of  personages  still  more  antique. 
His  day  coincides  with  that  of  the  Greek  St.  George, 
namely,  April  23d,  old  style,  or  May  6th  according  to 
our  mode  of  reckoning.  I  must  add  that  he  is  frowned 
upon  in  orthodox  circles,  and  feasted  only  in  Constan- 
tinople or  other  localities  subject  to  Greek  influence. 
Nevertheless,  many  men  who  scorn  the  authenticity  of 
his  claims  to  reverence  scorn  not  to  go  forth  into  the 
fields  on  his  day,  where  they  roast  a  lamb  on  a  spit,  eat 
pilaj,  and  otherwise  rejoice  over  the  return  of  the  sun. 
And  you  should  follow  them  to  Kiat  Haneh,  if  you  wish 
to  see  a  sight  —  so  great  and  so  characteristic  is  the  press 
of  those  who  celebrate  the  day.  Perhaps  they  do  so  the 
more  willingly  because  their  coreligionaries  the  Persians 
keep  in  that  way,  a  few  weeks  earlier,  their  own  feast  of 
No-rouz.  No-rouz,  New  Day,  is  the  most  sensible  New 
Year's  I  know,  falling  as,  it  does  at  the  vernal  equinox. 
The  Turks  also  observe  No-rouz,  to  the  degree  of  sending 
each  other  pots  of  sweetmeat  and  poetical  wishes  that 
life  may  be  as  free  from  bitterness. 

Having  made  these  exceptions  to  the  rule  that  holi- 
days are  holy  days  in  Turkey,  I  now  perceive  I  must 
make  one  more.  It  is  almost  as  trifling  as  the  last, 
however,  for  New  Year's  is  scarcely  a  holiday  at  all 
with  the  Turks.  It  is  not  a  day  of  feasting,  of  visit- 
paying,    or    of    present-giving.     Persons    of    suHiciently 


286      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

exalted  rank  go  to  the  palace  to  felicitate  the  Sultan  or 
to  inscribe  their  names  in  his  register,  and  each  receives 
a  new  gold  piece  —  of  no  great  denomination  in  these 
economical  days.     Ordinary  mortals  content  themselves 
with  exchanging  good  wishes  and  small  change  —  lucky 
pennies,  as  it  were.     A  penny  is  the  luckier  if  it  is  ob- 
tained on  sorhe  pretext,   without   mentioning  the  day. 
About  this  day  is  none  of  the  monotonous  invariabihty 
which    distinguishes    our   own    calendar.     It    is,    indeed, 
the  first  day  of  the  first  month,  Mouharrem,  but  of  the 
old  lunar  year  of  Arabia.     It  therefore  falls  eleven  days 
earlier  every  year,   making  the  backward  round  of  the 
seasons  in  a  cycle  of  thirty-three  years.     A  further  ele- 
ment of  latitude  enters  into  its  determination,  and  that 
of  other   strictly    Mohammedan    holidays,    by    the    fact 
that  the  month  is  not  supposed  to  begin  until  the  new 
moon  has  been  discovered  by  the  naked  eye.     In  the 
good  old  times  this  verification  of  the  calendar  gave  rise 
to  most  refreshing  divergences  of  opinion.     New  Year's 
might  be  celebrated  in  different  towns  on  a  number  of 
different  days,  according  to  the  cloudiness  of  the  sky; 
or,  in  case  of  a  conflict  of  authorities,  two  days  might 
even  be  celebrated  in  the  same  town.     But  the  advent 
of  the  telegraph  and  a  growing  laxity  in  interpretations 
have  brought  it  about  that  some  one  in  the  empire  is 
pretty  sure  to  see  the  new  moon  at  the  right  hour.     The 
day  of  the  ascertaining  of  the  new  moon  has  a  name 
of  its  own,  arijeh.     And  mark  that  a  Mohammedan,  like 
a  Hebrew  day,  begins  and  ends  at  sunset.     The  celebra- 
tion  of  the  eve  of  a  holiday   in  Western   countries   is 
doubtless  due  to  the  old  prevalence  of  the  same  usage. 
The  true  hohdays  of  Islam  are -connected  with  the 
life  and  teachings  of  its   founder.     These  are  seven  in 
number.     They  commemorate  the  birth  of  the  Prophet 


MOHAMMEDAN   HOLIDAYS  287 

(i2th  of  the  third  moon,  Rebi  ul  Evvel);   his  conception 
(6th  of  the  seventh  moon,  Rejeb);    his  ascension  —  ac- 
complished,   be    it    remembered,    during    his    lifetime  — 
(27th  Rejeb);    the  revelation  and  completion  of  his  mis- 
sion (ijth  of  the  eighth  moon,  Shaban,  and  27th  of  the 
ninth,    Ramazan);    the   close   of  the   fast   of  Ramazan 
(ist  Shevval);   and  the  sacrifice  of  Abraham  (loth  of  the 
last  moon,  Zilhijeh).     This  is  not  the  place  to  discourse 
of  comparative   religions,   but  it   is   interesting  to   note 
in  passing  the  relation  between  these  observances  and 
those  of  the  two  other  great  religions  which  had  their 
origin  so  near  Arabia.     This  relation  is  further  indicated 
by  the  lenten  month  of  Ramazan  and  by  the  paschal 
week  of  Kourhan  Bairam.     It  is  characteristic,  however, 
of  the  Puritanism  of  Islam  and  of  the  Prophet's  desire 
to.  put  from  him  every  pretence  of  divinity  that  his  own 
anniversaries    are    celebrated    the    most    simply.     They 
have   never   been   an   occasion,  like  the  great  Christian 
festivals,  for  general  feasting.     On  Mohammed's  birth- 
day, to  be  sure  —  known  as  Mevloud,  from  a  celebrated 
panegyric  of  the  Prophet  read  in  the  mosques  on  that 
Jay  —  the  hours  of  prayer  arc  announced  by  cannon, 
and  sweets  arc  distributed,  particularly  to  the  poor  and 
to  orphan  children.     On  that  day,  also,  the  Sultan  goes 
in  state  to  mosque.     But  otherwise  the  outsider  knows  of 
these  anniversaries  only  by  the  illumination  of  the  gal- 
leries of  minarets.     Whence  the  seven  holy  nights  have 
come  to  be  called  the  Nights  of  Lamps. 

Equally  characteristic,  in  a  different  way,  are  the 
two  general  holidays  of  the  Mohammedan  calendar. 
They  are  both  known  as  Bairam  —  feast  —  and  the 
outsider  has  no  difficulty  in  being  aware  of  them.  In- 
deed, it  would  be  rather  difficult  to  remain  unaware  ot 
so  much  cannon  firing  and   flag  flying.     The  month  of 


288      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

Ramazan  has  certain  festal  features,  but  they  are  largely 
discounted  by  the  total  fast  which  every  good  Moslem 
observes  during  the  daylight  hours.  The  close  of  Ram- 
azan is  marked  by  three  days  of  unlimited  festivity. 
This,  the  lesser  Ba'iram,  is  called  Sheker,  or  sometimes 
Mendil  Ba'iram  —  Sugar  or  Handkerchief  Feast.  Then 
people  exchange  sweets  and  handkerchiefs,  if  nothing 
else.  It  is,  howxver,  the  time  to  tip  servants  and  de- 
pendants, to  make  presents,  to  discharge  debts,  and  in 
general  to  fulfil  the  law  of  the  Prophet  by  dispensing 
zekyaat,  the  surplus  of  one's  goods.  I  was  once  pre- 
sented with  an  interesting  little  leaflet,  printed  in  silver, 
which  was  less  a  discreet  advertisement  than  a  tract  as 
to  the  true  Moslem's  duty  in  this  regard.  It  represented 
half  a  fruit  of  the  tree  touha,  under  which  in  paradise 
all  true  believers  will  gather  on  the  resurrection  day, 
and  the  seeds  of  this  fruit  wTre  circles  in  which  were 
printed  the  exact  quantity  of  certain  comestibles  to  be 
given  away  at  Ba'iram.  Preparations  for  this  generosity 
may  be  seen  during  the  afternoons  of  Ramazan,  when 
the  bazaars  and  the  fashionable  street  of  Shah-zadeh- 
Bashi  are  crowded  with  shoppers.  The  courtyard  of 
the  mosque  of  Baiezid  is  also  turned  into  a  fair  during 
Ramazan.  There  the  beau  monde  of  Stamboul  resorts, 
that  is  to  say  the  masculine  part  of  it,  two  or  three  hours 
before  sunset.  Sweetmeats  are  by  no  means  all  that  you 
may  buy.  Eatables  of  all  sorts,  perfumes,  tobacco, 
cigarette-holders,  and  beads  of  amber  and  other  materials 
are  also  sold,  besides  silks  and  rugs.  In  Abd  iil  Hamid's 
time  there  was  always  a  booth  for  the  sale  of  porcelain 
from  his  little  factory  at  Yildiz.  And  every  year  the 
ancient  pottery  works  of  Kutahya  send  up  a  consign- 
ment of  their  decorative  blue  ware. 

Both    Ba'irams    are    an    occasion    for    paying    visits. 


MOHAMMEDAN   HOLIDAYS  289 

Everybody  calls  on  everybody  else,  so  that  it  is  a  won- 
der if  anybody  is  found  at  home.  In  the  case  of  the 
Sultan,  however,  there  is  no  uncertainty.  On  the  first 
morning  of  each  Bairam  he  holds  a  great  levee,  which 
is  attended  by  every  one  of  a  certain  rank.     The  cere- 


Bairam  sweets 

mony  has  taken  place  every  year  since  the  time  of  Bai- 
ezid  the  Thunderbolt,  who  held  his  court  in  Broussa  in 
the  fourteenth  century.  Foreigners  take  no  part  in  this 
mouayedeh  (exchange  of  feast-day  wishes),  or  baise-main, 
as  they  prefer  to  call  it,  but  the  diplomatic  corps  and 
other  notables  of  the  European  colony  are  invited  to  watch 
it  from  the  gallery  of  the  throne-room.  Or  sometimes 
a  humbler  individual  may  be  introduced  in  the  suite  of 


290      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

his  embassy,  as  was  the  fortune  of  the  present  scribe 
on  the  occasion  of  the  first  haise-main  of  Sultan  Meh- 
med  V. 

It  rather  reminded  me  of  youthful  operatic  days  to 
march  through  the  endless  corridors  and  to  climb  the 
immeasurable  stairs  of  Dolma  Ba'hcheh  Palace  and  to 
look  down  at  last  from  the  high  east  gallery  of  the  throne- 
room.  The  top  galleries  of  my  youthful  days,  however, 
did  not  contain  gilt  chairs  upholstered  in  blue  and  white 
satin  or  bullets  set  out  with  gold  plate  and  presided  over 
by  lackeys  in  red  and  gold.  The  lackeys,  though,  did  look 
a  little  like  the  stage.  While  a  Turk  makes  a  magnifi- 
cent soldier  or  horseman,  he  never  attains,  impassive 
though  he  be,  the  sublime  superiority  of  a  European 
footman.  Is  it  that  his  livery  is  unnatural,  or  is  the 
human  in  him  too  strong  to  be  quite  purged  away?  The 
operatic  impression  was  further  carried  out  by  a  crystal 
chandelier,  swinging  from  the  dome  exactly  where  it 
would  cut  off  somebody's  view,  and  by  the  rococo  arches 
surrounding  the  central  square  of  the  throne-room.  This 
huge  space  was  empty  save  for  a  crystal  candelabrum 
standing  at  each  corner  and  a  covered  throne  in  the 
middle  of  the  west  side.  The  throne  was  a  small  red- 
and-gold  sofa,  as  we  presently  saw  when  an  old  gentle- 
man removed  the  cover.  He  also  looked  carefully  under 
the  throne,  as  might  a  queen  apprehensive  of  burglars 
or  mice;  but  I  suppose  it  was  to  make  sure  no  bomb  was 
there. 

In  the  meantime  the  courtiers  began  to  assemble: 
the  cabinet  at  the  left  of  the  throne,  the  army  and  navy 
—  in  much  gold  lace  —  at  right  angles  to  the  cabinet, 
the  church  under  the  east  gallery,  On  the  south  side 
of  the  hall,  facing  the  military,  stood  for  the  first  time 
the  new  parliament.     The  senators,  who  have  all  been 


MOHAMMEDAN   HOLIDAYS  291 

official  personages  in  their  day,  wore  their  various  uni- 
forms of  state.     The  deputies  looked  very  European  in 
evening  dress  and   white  gloves,  but  capped,  of  course, 
with  the  fez  of  rigour.     Last  to  come  in,  taking  their 
stand  at  the  right  of  the  throne,  were  the  imperial  princes. 
They  had  been  waiting  with  the  Sultan  in  an  adjoining 
room,  where  they  had  paid  homage  to  him  in  private. 
Then,  preceded  by  the  grand  master  of  ceremonies,  the 
Sultan  himself  entered.     Every  one  made  a  temenna  to 
the  ground,  that  graceful  triple  sweep  of  the  hand  which 
is  the  Turkish  form  of  salutation,  while  a  choir  hidden 
under   one   of  the   galleries   chanted:     "Thou    wilt   live 
long  with  thy  glory,  O  Sultan,  if  God  wills.     Great  art 
thou,   but   fo'rgct   not  that  One  is  greater."     For  those 
who    had    made    obeisance   the   year    before   and    many 
other  years  to  Abd  ul  Hamid  H  there  must  have  been 
something    strangely    moving    in    the    spectacle    of   the 
kindly  faced  old  man,  after  all  not  very  majestic  in  per- 
son, who  walked  a  little  as  if  his  shoes  were  too  tight, 
yet' who  took  his  place  at  the  head  of  that  great  com- 
pany  with  the   natural  dignity   of  his   house   and   race. 
He  wore  a  stubby  new  beard,  acquired  since  his  acces- 
sion;   for   it   is   not    meet   that   the   Commander   of  the 
Faithful  sho.uld  go  shorn. 

The  ceremony  was  opened  by  a  little  old  man  in 
green,  the  Nakib  ul  EshraJ,  whose  business  it  is  to  keep 
the  pedigrees  of  the  descendants  of  the  Prophet.  He 
appeared  from  behind  one  of  the  crystal  candelabra, 
bowed  low  in  front  of  majesty,  made  a  deep  temenna, 
stepped  backward,  and  offered  a  prayer.  The  Sultan  and 
all  the  other  Moslems  present  listened  to  it  with  their 
hands  held  up  in  front  of  them,  palms  inward.  Then 
the  first  chamberlain  of  the  court,  holding  a  red  velvet 
scarf  fringed  with  gold,  took  his  place  at  the  left  of  the 


292       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

throne,  the  band  in  the  north  gallery  —  and  a  very  good 
one  —  began  to  play,  and  the  baise-main  commenced. 
It  was  not  a  literal  haisc-main.  I  suppose  the  Sultan 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  hold  out  his  hand  long  enough 
for  several  hundred  people  to  kiss.  It  was  a  baise-echarpe 
rather,  as  the  Grand  Vizier  was  the  first  to  prove.  He 
made  the  temenna  —  or  salaamed,  as  we  put  it  in  Enghsh 
—  stepped  in  front  of  the  Sultan  and  salaamed  a  second 
time,  kissed  the  chamberkiin's  scarf  and  touched  it  to 
his  forehead,  salaamed  a  third  time,  and  backed  to  his 
place.  Hilmi  Pasha  was  followed  by  his  colleagues  in 
order.  When  the  last  of  them  had  paid  homage,  the 
chamberlain  passed  behind  the  throne  to  the  right,  and 
it  was  the  turn  of  parliament.  The  senators,  for  most  of 
whom  the  baise-main  was  no  novelty,  followed  the  ex- 
ample of  the  cabinet.  But  when  it  came  to  the  deputies, 
they  emphasised  a  new  order  of  things  by  merely  saluting, 
without  kissing  the  scarf.  To  their  speaker,  the  ex- 
exile  Ahmed  Riza  Bey,  the  Sultan  paid  the  honour  of 
offering  his  hand.  Ahmed  Riza  Bey  started  to  kiss  it, 
but  the  Sultan  prevented  him,  at  the  same  time  drawing 
hmi  forward  past  the  throne  and  giving  him  a  place  at 
the  left  beyond  the  Grand  Vizier. 

The  most  picturesque  part  of  the  ceremony  was  when 
the  iXlema,  the  dignitaries  of  the  cult,  in  their  gold-collared 
robes  and  white  turbans  ornamented  by  a  band  of  gold, 
paid  homage.  They  did  not  come  singly,  as  had  their 
predecessors,  but  in  a  long  flowing  line  of  colour.  At 
their  head  marched  the  Sheih  ill  Islam,  the  highest  relig- 
ious official  in  the  empire,  who  is  also  a  minister  of  state. 
He  wears  white,  like  the  Pope.  He  was  followed  by  the 
Sherij  Ali  Haidar  Bey,  Minister  of. Pious  Foundations. 
This  handsome  green-robed  Arab  is  one  of  the  greatest 
aristocrats  in  Islam,  being  an  authentic  descendant  of  the 


MOHAMMEDAN   HOLIDAYS  293 

Prophet.  And  he  has,  if  you  please,  an  English  wife. 
After  him  came  a  brilliant  company  of  lesser  green  robes, 
followed  by  a  succession  of  fawn-coloured  and  purple 
ones.  Four  dark  blues  and  one  sombre  greybeard  in 
black  made  a  period  to  the  procession.  The  long  double 
Hne  had,  to  the  detached  gallery-god  view,  the  appearance 
of  a  particularly  effective  ballet  as  it  advanced  parallel  to 
the  diplomatic  gallery,  turned  half-way  across  the  hall  at 
right  angles,  moved  forward  to  the  throne,  and  backed 
out  as  it  came.  And  the  band  did  not  a  Httle  to  forward 
the  detachment  of  the  gallery-god  view  by  irreverently 
playing  a  potpourri  from  "Carmen"  as  the  fathers  of  the 
cult  made  obeisance  before  the  throne.  The  iilenia  were 
followed  by  the  heads  of  the  non-Moslem  rehgions  of  the 
empire.  This  also  was  an  innovation,  and  the  Greek 
Patriarch  made  a  brief  address  in  honour  of  it.  Last  of 
all  the  army,  the  navy,  and  the  civil  dignitaries  took  their 
turn.  This  time  the  band  played  the  march  from  "Tann- 
hauser";  and  with  real  courtiers  paying  homage  to  a 
real  ruler  in  a  real  throne-room,  to  that  music,  illusion 
became  fantastic.  When  the  last  member  of  the  official 
hierarchy  had  made  his  last  temenna  the  Sultan  withdrew, 
followed  by  the  court,  while  the  visitors  in  the  gallery 
were  invited  to  refresh  themselves  at  the  buffet.  Then 
the  chiefs  of  missions  and  their  wives  —  but  not  humble 
individuals  in  their  suites  —  were  invited,  by  way  of 
further  innovation,  to  have  audience  of  his  majesty. 

The  unofficial  side  of  Bairam  is  quite  as  full  of  col- 
our in  its  more  scattered  way.  Then  every  man  who  can 
afford  it,  or  whose  master  can,  puts  on  a  new  suit  of 
clothes.  He  at  least  dons  something  new,  if  only  a  gay 
handkerchief  about  his  fez  or  neck.  It  is  interesting  to 
stand  at  some  busy  corner  in  a  Turkish  quarter  and  watch 
the  crowd  in  its  party-coloured  holiday  finery.     Friends 


294       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

meeting  each  other  stop,  seize  a  hand  between  their  two, 

and  solemnly  rub  checks.      Inferiors  try  to  kiss  the  hand 

of  superiors,  who  try  in  turn  to  snatch  the  hand  away, 

their  success  depending  on  the  degree  of  their  superiority. 

And  everybody  wishes  everybody  else  a  blessed  Bairam. 

The  bekjis  —  watchmen  who  have  beaten  drums  during 

the  nights  of  Ramazan  in  order  to  get  people  up  in  time 

for  their  last  meal  —  march  about  collecting  tips.     They 

announce  themselves  by  their  drums,  to  which  they  often 

add  a  pipe  or  a  small  violin,  and  they  carry  a  pole  that  is 

gaudy  with  the  handkerchiefs   people  give  them.     The 

sound  of  music,  however,  often  means  that  dancing  is  on. 

There  is  sure  to  be  something  of  the  sort  wherever  Kiirds 

or  Laz  gather  together.     Your  true  Turk  is  too  dignified 

for  such  frivoHties.     And  be  it  well  understood  that  the 

only  women  who  dance  in  the  open  at  Bairam  are  gipsies, 

hussies  who  love  to  deck  themselves  out  in  yellow  and  who 

bhish  not  to  reveal  their  faces  or  their  ankles.     I  regret 

that  I  am  too  little  of  an  expert  in  matters  terpsichorean 

to  enter  into  the  fine  points  of  these  performances.     I 

can  no  more  than  sketch  out  an  impression  of  a  big  green 

tent  in  some  vacant  lot,  of  the  high  fights  of  brass  that 

go  with  tea  and  coffee  drinking  in  its  shadow,  and  of 

fiercely  moustachioed  persons  in  tall  felt  caps,  in  hooded 

or  haply  goatskin  jackets,  and  in  w^ide  trousers,  if  they 

be  Kurds,  or  of  sfighter  Laz  with  tight  black  legs  that 

bulge  out  at  the  top  and  hoods  picturesquely  knotted 

about  their  heads,  who  join  hands  and  begin  very  slowly 

a  swaying  step  that  grows  wilder  and  wilder  with  the 

throbbing  of  a  demon  drum. 

It  is  the  children,  however,  to  whom  Bairam  chiefly 
belongs.  In  their  honour  all  the  open  spaces  of  the 
Mohammedan  quarters  are  utifised  f^or  fairs  and  play- 
grounds.    The  principal  resort  of  the  kind  is  the  yard 


MOHAMMEDAN   HOLIDAYS 


295 


surrounding  the  mosque  of  the  Conqueror  —  or  it  used 
to  be  before  gardens  were  planted  there.  I  discovered  it 
quite  by  accident  one  day  when  I  went  to  Stamboul  to 
see  how  Bairam  was  being  celebrated  and  saw  a  quantity 
of  carts,  dressed  out  with  flags  and  greens,  full  of  chil- 
dren. I  followed  the  carts  until  I  came  upon  the  most 
festive  confusion  of  voices,  of  tents,  of  music,  of  horses, 


The  open  spaces  of  the  Mohammedan  quarters  are  utilised  for  fairs 

of  donkeys,  of  itinerant  venders,  of  fezzed  papas,  of 
charshajt'd  mammas,  of  small  girls  in  wonderful  silks  and 
satins,  and  small  boys  as  often  as  not  in  the  uniform  of 
generals.  Amidst  them  I  remarked  with  particular 
pleasure  a  decorative  Arab  in  white,  who  strode  about 
with  a  collection  of  divinatory  green  birds.  A  country- 
man of  his  had  a  funny  Kttle  peep-show,  inlaid  with 
mother-of-pearl,  into  which  I  was  dying  to  look  but  con- 
sidered myself  too  dignified  to  do  so.     Neither  did  I  go 


296      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

into  the  tent  which  bore  this  ingratiating  sign:  "Ici  on 
expose  animaux  vivans  et  la  demoiselle  laquelle  a  la  poi- 
trine  une  cavite."  In  other  tents  the  physical  man  was 
more  particularly  catered  to.  Indeed,  stiifTmg  seems  to 
be  the  great  afTair  of  Ba'iram.  I  must  not  omit,  however, 
the  numerous  contrivances  for  inducing  motion  more  or 
less  violent.  ■  Merry-go-rounds  propelled  b}'  hand,  swings 
in  the  form  of  boats,  milder  swings  for  girls,  where  one 
could  sit  under  an  awning  hke  a  lady  and  run  no  risk  of 
being  dashed  to  death,  and  a  selection  of  miniature  ve- 
hicles for  the  very  little  person,  were  so  many  arguments 
against  Mr.  Kipling  and  the  East-is-East  theory.  An- 
other argument  was  put  forward  by  the  discreet  gambler, 
with  his  quick  eye  for  the  police,  who  in  various  familiar 
ways  tempted  youth  to  lllrt  with  destiny. 

It  was  with  some  misgiving  that  I  first  entered  this 
assemblage,  mine  being  the  only  hat  and  camera  visible. 
But  during  the  several  Bahcuns  that  I  returned  there  no 
one  ever  seemed  to  resent  my  presence  except  one  young 
and  zealous  pohce  officer  who  made  up  his  mind  .that  I 
had  no  other  purpose  in  visiting  the  fair  of  Fatih  than  to 
take  photographs  of  ladies.  At  a  tent  where  wrestling 
was  going  on  they  once  demanded  a  pound  of  me  for  ad- 
mission, supposlng-that  I  was  a  post-card  man  and  would 
make  vast  gains  out  of  their  entertainment.  But  at  an- 
other, where  I  paid  the  customary  ten  cents  or  less,  I 
was  invited  into  the  place  of  honour;  and  there,  no  seats 
being  left,  a  naval  officer  insisted  on  my  occupying  his  — 
because,  as  he  said,  I  was  an  amateur  of  the  great  Turkish 
sport  and  a  guest,  i.  e.,  a  foreigner.  Occidental  hospl- 
tahty  does  not  often  take  that  particular  form.  Another 
trait  struck  my  transatlantic  eye  when  I  happened  once 
to  be  at  Fatih  on  the  last  day  of  Ba'iram.  The  barkers 
had  all  been  shouting:    "Come,  children!     Come!     To- 


MOHAMMEDAN   HOLIDAYS  297 

morrow  is  not  Ba'irain  /"  Presently  cannon  banged  to 
announce  ikindi,  the  afternoon  hour  of  prayer,  which  is 
both  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  Bairam.  All  about  me 
I  heard  people  saying:  "Bairam  is  finished."  And 
Bairam  was  finished.  It  was  only  the  middle  of  a  sunny 
afternoon,  and  in  any  other  country  the  merrymaking 
would  have  gone  on  till  night.  But  the  children  went 
away,  and  men  began  taking  down  the  swings  and  tents 
in  the  most  philosophical  manner.  In  191 1  and  191 2 
Bairam  was  hardly  celebrated  at  all,  as  a  mark  of  mourn- 
ing for  the  Itahan  and  Balkan  wars. 

The  greater  Bairam,  called  Kourban  Bairam,  or  the 
Feast  of  Sacrifice,  is  more  of  a  rehgious  observance.  It 
lasts  one  day  longer  than  the  other.  It  commemorates, 
as  I  have  said,  the  sacrifice  of  Abraham.  According  to 
Mohammedan  tradition,  however,  Ishmael  and  not  Isaac 
was  the  hero  of  that  occasion.  In  memory  of  the  miracle 
of  his  escape  every  household  that  can  afford  to  do  so 
sacrifices  at  least  one  ram  on  the  loth  Zilhijeh.  Among 
the  rich  a  ram  is  provided  for  each  member  of  the  family, 
and  those  who  have  recently  died  are  not  forgotten.  It 
is  also  the  custom  to  make  presents  of  rams,  as  between 
friends,  engaged  couples,  and  masters  and  dependants. 
The  Sultan  is  naturally  distinguished  among  these  donors 
by  the  scale  of  his  generosity.  He  gives  a  sacrificial  ram 
to  each  of  the  imperial  mosques  and  theological  schools, 
as  well  as  to  those  whom  he  dehghts  to  honour.  These 
huge  creatures  belong  to  a  very  aristocratic  race.  They 
are  bred  by  a  semi-religious,  semi-agricultural  community 
called  the  Saieh  Ojaghi,  established  since  the  early  days 
of  the  conquest  in  the  inner  valley  of  the  Golden  Horn. 
The  members  of  this  community  still  maintain  their 
mediaeval  customs  and  costumes  and  enjoy  certain  tradi- 
tional privileges.     In  return  for  these  they  rear  the  im- 


298      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

pcrial  rams,  which  they  bring  in  procession  to  the  Palace 
every  year  about  a  week  before  Kourban  Bairam.  There 
the  rams  are  bathed,  their  horns  and  hoofs  are  gilded, 
and  they  are  further  adorned  by  velvet  muzzles  a-glitter 
with  gold  fringe  and  mirror  glass.  It  is  not  an  un- 
common sight,  although  in  the  already  mythic  days  of 
Abd  ill  Hamid  it  was  far  more  common,  to  see  an  im- 
maculate aide-de-camp  driving  in  an  open  victoria  with 
one  of  these  gaudy  companions. 

It  naturally  requires  a  great  many  rams  to  supply 
the  demand  of  Kourban  Bairam.  Consequently  the  open 
spaces  of  the  Mohammedan  quarters  are  full  of  baa-ing 
and  bargaining  for  a  week  or  ten  days  before  the  sacri- 
fice. The  landing-stages  of  Scutari  and  Beshiktash  are 
headquarters  of  this  traffic.  Top  Hanch,  and  the  vicin- 
ity of  the  mosques  of  Yeni  Jami,  St.  Sophia,  Mohammed 
II,  and  Baiezid  II.  The  last  is  perhaps  the  largest  and 
most  characteristic  of  these  markets.  Single  rams  that 
have  been  grown  for  the  occasion  stand  picketed  near 
the  mosque  awaiting  a  well-to-do  purchaser.  They  are 
sometimes  as  large  and  as  gaily  dressed  as  the  Sultan's 
rams.  They  wear  a  necklace  of  bkie  beads  to  keep  off 
the  Evil  Eye,  and  bits  of  their  uncut  fleece  will  be  tied 
up  with  tinsel  or -ribbon.  I  remember  one  which  had  a 
red  silk  sash  on  which  was  printed  his  name  in  gold 
letters  —  Arslan,  Hon.  Such  a  kourban  represents  a 
sacrifice  of  five  to  fifteen  pounds.  Most  buyers  prefer 
to  patronise  the  shepherds  who  bring  their  flocks  into 
the  city  for  the  occasion.  These  shepherds,  usuaHy 
Albanians,  make  a  very  picturesque  addition  to  the  scene 
with  their  huge  square-shouldered  cloaks  of  feh,  fanci- 
fuHy  painted  in  red  and  bkie.  The  sheep,  too,  are  daubed 
with  colour,  to  distinguish  one  flock  from  another.  They 
sefl  for  rather  less  than  a  pound  apiece,  growing  cheaper 


MOHAMMEDAN   HOLIDAYS 


299 


as   the   day   of  sacrifice   approaches.     It   is   amusing   to 
watch  and  to  listen  to  the  bargaining  that  goes  on  be- 


Sheep-market  at  Yeni  Jami 

tween  shepherd  and  householder  until  their  demands 
come  within  sight  of  each  other.  Most  amusing,  though, 
is  it  to  see  the  ram  —  which,  I  suspect,  is  not  seldom  a 


300      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW^ 

sheep  —  when  the  bargain  is  made,  carried  away  pick- 
aback by  one  of  the  innumerable  hamals  who  hang  around 
for  such  an  opportunity.  These  strange  couples  are  the 
characteristic  harbinger  of  Kourban  Ba'irari},  the  ram 
staring  over  the  man's  shoulder  with  vast  apparent  in- 
terest in  the  sights  he  sees,  his  hind  quarters  making 
the  roundest  and  most  comfortable  curve  in  the  small 
of  the  hamaVs  back. 

The  actual  sacrifice  I  have  never  seen,  and  I  hope 
I  never  may.  I  once  witnessed  a  cinematographic  rep- 
resentation of  what  takes  place  at  the  Palace,  and  that 
was  enough  for  me.  The  moving  pictures  represented 
his  majesty  returning  from  early  morning  prayer,  alight- 
ing at  the  great  door  of  Do! ma  Ba'hcheh,  and  greeting 
the  dignitaries  there  assembled  to  receive  him.  He  then 
read  a  brief  prayer,  took  a  knife  from  a  platter  handed 
him  by  an  attendant,  and  passed  it  to  the  actual  execu- 
tioner. In  theory,  the  head  of  each  house  is  supposed 
to  perform  the  sacrifice.  The  flesh  must  be  given  away, 
and  the  fleece,  or  its  proceeds,  is  used  for  some  charitable 
purpose. 


X 

TWO   PROCESSIONS 

I    HAD   been   in   and   out   of  Constantinople   a   good 
many  years  before  I  even  heard  of  the  Sacred  Caravan. 
The  first  I  heard  of  it  then  was  on  the  Bridge  one  day, 
when  I  became  aware  of  a  drum  beating  out  a  curious 
slow  rhythm:    one,  two,  ibrec.  Jour,   live,  six;    one,  two, 
three,  Jour,  five,  six.     I  waited  to  see  what  would  hap- 
pen, and  presently  from  the  direction  of  Stamboul  strag- 
gled a  procession  that,  of  course,   I   had   no  camera  to 
photograph,  against  the  grey  dome  and  springing,  min- 
arets of  Yeni  Jami.     It  was  led  by  two  men  with  tom- 
toms   beating    in    unison    the    rhythm   I    had   heard.      I 
later  learned  that  those  tom-toms  have  a  special  name, 
kyoz.     After  the  drummers  marched  a  number  of  boys 
in  pairs,  carrying  small  furled  flags  of  red  silk  embroi- 
dered with  gold.     Behind, the  boys  strode  a  serious-look- 
ing person  who  held  a  small  round  shield  and  a  drawn 
sword.     He  was  followed  by  a  man  bearing  a  big  green 
standard,  embroidered  and  fringed  with  gold,  on  a  white 
staff  tipped  by  a  sort  of  brass  lyre  in  which  were  Arabic 
letters.     Next  came   a   palanquin   of  white   wood  slung 
between    mules.     It    had    glass    windows    and    wooden 
shutters,  and   looked   very  cosy  with   its   red   silk   cush- 
ions;  but  nobody  was  there  to  enjoy  them.     In  the  rear 
of  the  palanquin  were  men  carrying  staves  with  bunches 
of   dyed    ostrich    feathers    at    their  tips,  hke    enormous 
dusters.     And  then  slouched  along  a  magnificent  camel. 
He  wore  a  green  silk  saddle-cloth  embroidered  in  white, 

301 


302      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

and  above  that  a  tall  green  silk  hoodah  with  gold  em- 
broidery; and  ostrich  plumes  nodded  from  him  in  tufts, 
and  at  his  knees  he  wore  caps  of  coloured  beads.  Be- 
hind him  trotted  a  lot  of  mules  in  pairs,  all  loaded  with 
small  hair  trunks.  I  did  not  know  that  the  trunks 
w^ere  full  of  presents  for  the  good  people  of  Mecca  and 
Medina. 

So  lamentable  a  state  of  ignorance  would  not  be 
possible,  I  suppose,  in  Cairo,  where  the  annual  depar- 
ture of  the  Mahmal  is  one  of  the  stock  sights.  But  if 
the  Constantinople  caravan  attracts  less  attention  in  the 
larger  city,  it  is  the  more  important  of  the  two.  The 
Sultan  Bibars  Boundoukdari,  founder  of  the  Mameluke 
dynasty  of  Egypt  in  the  seventh  century,  was  the  first 
to  send  every  year  to  Mecca  a  richly  caparisoned  camel 
with  a  new  cover  for  the  Kaaba.  In  the  process  of  time 
other  gifts  were  sent  by  the  Sacred  Caravan  to  both 
the  holy  cities.  The  first  of  the  Turkish  sultans  to  imi- 
tate this  pious  custom  was  Mehmed  I,  builder  of  the 
beautiful  Green  Mosque  in  Broussa.  His  great-great- 
grandson  Selim  I  conquered  Egypt  in  15 17,  and  with 
Egypt  the  relics  of  the  Prophet  and  the  insignia  of  the 
caliphate,  which  were  removed  to  Constantinople.  Hav- 
ing become  by  virtue  of  his  conquest  Protector  and 
Servitor  of  the  Holy  Cities,  Selim  largely  increased  the 
generosity  of  his  fathers.  His  descendants  of  to-day 
are  unable  to  display  the  same  munificence,  but  the 
annual  sourreh  still  forms  the  strongest  material  bond 
betw^een  Turkey  and  Arabia.  It  consists  of  money  in 
bags,  of  robes,  of  uncut  cloth,  of  shoes,  and  even  of  a 
certain  kind  of  biscuit.  The  total  value  of  these  and  other 
articles,  which  are  all  minutely  prescribed  by  tradition 
and  which  are  the  perquisite  of  particular  families  or 
dignitaries,  now  amounts  to  some  £  T.  30,000.     As  for  the 


TWO   PROCESSIONS  303 

covering  of  the  Kaaba,  it  is  still  made  in  Egypt  and  sent 
from  there.  The  old  coverings  afford  quite  a  revenue 
to  the  eunuchs  in  charge  of  the  temple.  The  smallest 
shred  is  a  relic  of  price,  while  a  waistcoat  of  the  precious 
fabric  is  supposed  to  make  the  wearer  invulnerable  and 
is  a  fit  present  for  princes.  The  hangings  for  the  Prophet's 
tomb  at  Medina,  changed  less  frequently,  are  woven  in 
Constantinople.  The  work  is  a  species  of  rite  in  itself, 
being  performed  in  a  room  of  the  old  palace,  near  the 
depository  of  the  relics  of  the  Prophet,  by  men  who 
must  be  ceremonially  pure,  dressed  in  white. 

The    arrival    of  the    imperial   presents    in    Mecca    is 
planned  to  coincide  with  the  ceremonies  of  the  greater 
pilgrimage.     These  take  place  at  the  Feast  of  Sacrifice, 
which  with  the  two  days  preceding  constitutes  the  holy 
week  of  Islam.     Pilgrimage  is  a  cardinal  duty  of  every 
Moslem,  expressly  enjoined  in  the  twenty-second  Soma 
of  the  Koran.     The  first  Haj  took  place  during  the  life- 
time of  the  Prophet,  and  every  year  since  then  has  seen 
the  faithful  gather  in  Mecca  from  the  four  quarters  of 
the  Mohammedan  world.     Constantinople  is  one  of  their 
chief   rallying  places,   as    being    the  seat  of  the   Caliph 
and  the  natural  point  of  departure  for  the  pilgrims  of 
northern  Asia.     These  holy  palmers  add  a  note  of  their 
own  to  the  streets  of  the  capital  during  their  seasons 
of  migration,  with  their  quilted  coats  of  many  colours, 
their   big  turbans,   and  their   Mongol   caste   of  feature. 
The  day  for  the  departure  of  the  Sacred  Caravan  is  the 
eve  of  Berat  Gejesi,  or  the  night  when  Gabriel  revealed 
his  mission  to  the  Prophet.     This  is  nearly  four  months 
before  the  great  day  of  Kourban  Bairam.     In  the  times 
when   the   caravan   marched   overland   from   Scutari   to 
Mecca,  four  months  was  none  too  much.     But  the  pil- 
grimage has  been  vastly  shortened  in  these  days  of  steam, 


304      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

and  will  be  shorter  still  when  the  last  links  of  rail  are 
laid  between  Constantinople  and  Mecca.  For  the  time 
being,  however,  the  Sacred  Caravan  still  makes  its  offi- 
cial departure  on  the  traditional  day,  going  over  to 
Scutari  and  waiting  there  until  it  is  ready  to  embark 
for  Beyrout.  It  makes  a  stop  of  twenty-five  days  in 
Damascus,  where  the  imperial  benevolence  begins,  and 
thence  it  proceeds  by  the  new  Hejaz  railway  to  Medina. 
There  is  also  a  traditional  day  for  the  return  of  the  pil- 
grims. Part  of  the  ceremony  of  the  Prophet's  birthday 
is  the  delivery  to  the  Sultan  of  a  letter  from  the  SheriJ 
of  Mecca,  sent  back  by  the  leader  of  the  Sacred  Caravan 
in  response  to  the  Sultan's  own,  together  with  a  cluster 
of  dates  from  the  Holy  City. 

The  ceremonial  attending  the  departure  of  the  Sacred 
Caravan  is  one  of  the  last  bits  of  Oriental  colour  left  in 
Constantinople.  I  ha\-e  now  seen  it  several  times,  how- 
ever, and  every  year  it  seems  to  lose  something.  My 
best  procession  was  my  first,  which  also  happened  to  be 
the  last  under  a  Caliph  of  absolute  power  to  draw  upon 
the  public  funds.  And  although  I  had  a  camera  with 
me  that  time,  I  was  not  allowed  to  use  it.  The  convoy  I 
had  encountered  on  the  bridge  was  merely  a  preliminary 
of  the  true  pageant,  escorting  the  sourreh  from  the  Min- 
istry of  Pious  Foundations  to  Yildlz  Palace.  There  the 
presents,  installed  for  two  days  under  rich  tents,  were 
inspected  by  Abd  ill  Hamid  and  given  into  the  custody 
of  the  Sourreh  Emini.  Then  after  an  imposing  religious 
ceremony  the  Sacred  Caravan  commenced  its  march. 
For  a  spectator  without  the  palace  walls  the  first  inti- 
mation of  its  approach  was  given  by  several  carriages  of  - 
Palace  ladies,  who  take  an  unofficial  part  in  most  public 
spectacles.  Religious  and  military  dignitaries  also  began 
sauntering  down  the  road,  which  was  bordered  by  soldiers. 


TWO   PROCESSIONS 


305 


with  an  air  of  dispersing  after  some  important  function. 
Presently  a  double  line  of  cavalrymen  came  into  sight, 
preceding  more  religious  and  military  dignitaries  on  horse- 
back. One  of  them  was  the  Emir  ill  Haj,  the  official 
head  of  the  caravan,  with  much  gold  embroidery  on  his 


Church  fathers  in  the  Sacred  Caravan 


long  coat.  His  post,  still  an  important  one,  was  far  more 
so  in  the  days  when  the  caravan  was  less  certain  to  escape 
attack  on  the  way.  Some  of  the  horses,  particularly  of 
the  iilema,  were  led  by  grooms;  others  were  followed  by 
orderlies  carrying  big  cloth  bundles.  The  body  of  the 
procession  was  made  up  of  an  irregular  crowd  of  priests, 
ofTicers,  eunuchs.  Palace  servants,  and  nondescripts  of 
various  sorts,  chanting  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  followed 


3o6      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

by  the  big  camel  I  had  already  seen,  and  the  palanquin. 
But  there  were  eight  other  camels  this  time,  of  all  sizes, 
down  to  a  flufTy  little  white  one  that  everybody  wanted 
to  pat;  and  two  children  were  immensely  enjoying  a  ride 
in  the  palanquin.     Behind  that  rode  an  official  holding 


Housings  in  the  Sacred  Caravan 


out  on  a  red  satin  cushion  an  autograph  letter  from  the 
Sultan  to  the  SheriJ  of  Mecca,  confirming  him  in  his 
office  for  the  coming  year.  Another  bore  a  huge  parcel 
in  his  arms,  done  up  in  white  tissue-paper.  This  was  a 
robe  of  honour  sent  by  the  Sultan  to  the  SheriJ.  Others 
still  carried  silver  vessels  in  which  sweet  savours  burned  — • 
"in  honour  of  the  angels,"  as  a  dervish  once  expressed  it 
to  me.     Next  marched  a  second  irregular  crowd,  louder 


TWO   PROCESSIONS 


307 


and  more  amazing  than  the  first.  In  front  of  it  were 
two  rows  of  black  men  in  scarlet  robes,  beating  on  tom- 
toms the  rhythm  I  knew,  which  they  alternated  with  a 
quicker  one.  And  midway  of  the  crowd  a  ring  of  excited 
persons  brandished  swords  and  challenged  the  enemies 


The  sacred  camel 

of  the  Prophet  to  mortal  combat.  They  were  an  unac- 
customed reminder,  in  tolerant  Constantinople,  of  the 
early  days  of  the  faith.  And  then,  tied  with  very  new 
rope  to  the  backs  of  some  thirty  mules  walking  two  and 
two,  each  gay  with  flags  and  ostrich  feathers  and  led  by  a 
solemn  artilleryman,  were  the  quaint  little  hair  trunks  in 
which  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful  sent  his  gifts  to 
the  far-away  people  of  the  Prophet. 


3o8      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

There  is  another  annual  procession  to  be  seen  in 
Constantinople  which  recalls  to  Western  eyes  even  more 
strangely  than  that  of  the  sourreb  an  older  day  of  faith. 
Turks  take  no  part  in  it,  however,  although  they  also 
observe  the    loth    of   Mouharrem,  on  which  it  falls,  as 


The  palanquin 


the  anniversary  of  Joseph's  deliverance  from  prison  in 
Egypt  and  of  Noah's  exit  from  the  ark.  They  make  in 
honour  of  the  occasion  and  present  to  their  friends  a 
sweet  pudding  to  which  they  have  given  the  name  of  the 
anniversary  —  ashoureh,  or  tenth  day.  The  basis  of  it 
is  boiled  wheat,  to  which  are  added  all  manner  of  grains, 
nuts,  and  dried  fruits;    and  the  legend  is  that  Noah  and 


TWO   PROCESSIONS 


309 


his  people  made  a  similar  pudding  on  Mount  Ararat  out 
of  what  was  left  in  the  bins  of  the  ark. 

It  is  for  the  Persians  that  the  day  is  peculiarly  sacred. 
They  also  make  a  special  dish  for  it,  called  zerdeh,  of  rice, 
suc^ar,  and  saffron.     But  that  is  a  mere  detail  of  what  is 


Tied  with  very  new  rope  to  the  backs  of  some  thirty  mules  . 
the  quaint  Httle  hair  trunks 


were 


for  them  the  hohest  season  in  the  year.  The  Persians 
and  the  Turks  belong  to  two  different  sects  that  have 
divided  the  Mohammedan  world  since  the  death  of  the 
Prophet.  It  is  not  for  an  unlettered  unbeliever  hghtly 
to  declare  that  so  serious  a  matter  was  in  the  begmnmg 
a  question  of  cberchez  la  Jemme.  Still,  it  is  a  fact  that 
the  enmity  of  A'isheh,  the  youngest  wife  of  Mohammed, 


310      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

toward  Ali,  the  Prophet's  cousin  and  son-in-law,  did  much 
to  embitter  those  early  differences  of  opinion.  This  lady, 
while  on  a  journey,  once  caused  tongues  to  wag  by 
disappearing  from  her  htter  at  a  compromising  hour 
and  being  brought  back  by  a  man  considerably  younger 
than  her  distinguished  husband.  Mohammed  was  finally 
forced  to  silence  the  voice  of  scandal  by  the  twenty- 
fourth  Soura  of  the  Koran,  entitled  Light.  In  the  mean- 
time, however,  consulting  with  his  four  closest  friends 
and  followers  as  to  w^hat  should  be  done,  he  was  as- 
sured by  three  of  them  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  as 
to  the  innocence  of  the  Mother  of  the  Moslems.  The 
fourth,  Ah,  ventured  to  suggest  that  the  matter  would 
bear  investigation.  Aisheh  never  forgave  the  doubt  of 
her  step  son-in-law,  and  her  enmity  was  a  potent  factor 
in  keeping  Ali  from  the  caliphate.  He  eventually  did 
succeed,  the  fourth  to  do  so,  twenty-four  years  after  the 
Prophet's  death.  But  the  Su unites  regard  him  as  the 
least  of  the  first  four  Caliphs.  The  Shiites,  on  the  other 
hand,  do  not  recognise  the  first  three  Cahphs  at  alL 
They  even  fete  the  anniversary  of  the  death  of  the  second 
one,  Omar.  AH  is  for  them  the  vicar  of  God,  and  they 
hold  his  descendants  to  the  ninth  generation  in  peculiar 
reverence.  The  twelfth  of  these  Imams,  as  they  are 
called,  the  Mehdi,  is  supposed  never  to  have  died.  It  is 
beheved  that  he  will  reappear  before  the  last  judgment 
in  order,  curiously  enough,  to  overthrow  antichrist.  As 
for  Ali,  the  hatred  of  Aisheh  pursued  him  even  after  he 
became  Caliph,  and  stirred  up  disaffection  against  him. 
He  was  finally  stabbed.  His  two  sons,  Hassan  and 
Hiissem,  also  met  violent  deaths,  the  former  being  poi- 
soned and  the  latter  faffing  under  thirty-three  wounds  on 
the  heroic  fiefd  of  Kerbefa.  These  tragic  events  are  what 
the  Shiites  commemorate  on  the  loth  of  Mouharrem. 


TWO   PROCESSIONS 


311 


In  Persia  the  entire  month  is  a  time  of  mourning. 
During  the  first  ten  days  public  passion-plays  represent 
with  bloody  realism  the  lives  and  deaths  of  the  first 
Imams.  In  Sunnite  Constantinople,  where  there  are 
some  six  thousand  Persians,  the  commemoration  is  nat- 
urally less  public,  although  the  two  sects  no  longer  come 
to  blows  over  it.     Most  of  the  Persian  colony  are  from 


A  Persian  miniaturt-  representing  the  death  of  Ali 


the  region  of  Tabriz,  where  a  Turkish  dialect  is  spoken. 
Their  headquarters  are  in  a  number  of  old  stone  bans 
near  the  bazaars  and  the  War  Department.  Large  tents 
are  put  up  in  the  courts  of  these  bans  during  Mouharrem, 
and  there  every  evening  mollabs  recite  the  story  of  the 
tragedy  of  Kcrbela.  It  took  place  more  than  a  thousand 
years  ago,  and  religious  feeling  has  cooled  much  in  those 
thousand  years,  but  the  story  still  has  a  strange  power 
to  draw  tears  from  the  crowding  Persians  who  listen  to 
it.  After  the  third  night  men  with  banners  and  torches 
give  a  greater  semblance  of  reality  to  the  recitation.     On 


312      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

the  tenth  night,  or  on  the  night  of  the  tenth  day,  which 
is  the  anniversary  of  the  martyrdom  of  Hussein,  the 
torches  and  banners  march  about  to  the  various  bans 
where  Persians  live. 

The  last  time  I  saw  this  ceremony  it  included  pictur- 
esque features  new  to  me;  and,  by  way  of  marking  a 
dramatic  contrast  between  century  and  century,  an 
aeroplane  suddenly  whirred  across  the  square  of  sky 
visible  from  the  Valideh  court.  But  I  shall  always  re- 
member the  first  of  the  processions  that  I  saw.  It  was 
in  the  same  paved  courtyard  of  VaHdeh  Han,  surrounded 
by  half-ruined  cloisters.  The  central  mosque,  the  tem- 
porary shed  in  one  corner,  the  sparse  trees,  the  silently 
waiting  spectators,  made  so  many  vague  shapes  in  the 
February  dusk;  and  snow  was  falling.  .  A  strange  clam- 
our of  pipes  and  drums  and  shouting  began  to  make  itself 
heard  in  the  distance.  Suddenly  the  archway  giving  en- 
trance to  the  ban  Hghted  up  with  a  smoky  glare,  and  the 
procession  surged  slowly  into  the  court.  It  was  led  by 
men  carrying  flaming  cressets  of  iron  basketwork  and 
three  enigmatic  steel  emblems  on  long  staves.  The  cen- 
tral one  was  a  sort  of  sword-blade  above  a  spindle-shaped 
fretting  of  Arabic  letters,  while  the  other  two  w^ere  tri- 
dents springing  from  a  similar  base;  and  from  all  three 
floated  streamers  of  crape.  Next  came  two  files  of  stand- 
ard-bearers, dressed  in  black,  with  black  caps  on  their 
heads.  The  flags  they  bore  were  black  or  dark-coloured, 
triangular  in  shape,  with  the  names  of  the  Imams  and 
other  holy  inscriptions  embroidered  on  them  in  silver. 
On  top  of  some  of  the  staves  was  an  open  hand  of  brass. 
I  was  told  that  it  commemorated  the  mutilation  of 
Hiissein.  Behind  the  standard-bearers  marched  more 
men  in  black,  chanting  in  a  rhythm  of  six  beats  and 
striking   their   bare   breasts   on   the   fifth.     Even   a   for- 


TWO   PROCESSIONS 


313 


eigner  could  distinguish  the  frequent  names  of  Ah  and 
Hussein.  Others  held  in  both  hands  a  chain  at  the 
end   of  which    was    a   bunch   of  smaller   chains.     With 


Valideh  Han 


this,  first  over  one  shoulder  and  then  over  the  other, 
they  beat  their  backs.  The  thud  kept  time  with  the 
chanting,  and  vigorously  enough  to  leave  visible,  some- 
times sickening  signs,  under  the  torn  black  of  the  single 
garment  they  wore.     Two  white  horses  followed.     The 


314      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

first,  with  rich  saddlc-cloth  and  head-stall,  carried  a  little 
boy  on  his  back.  On  the  saddle  of  the  second,  capari- 
soned in  blood-streaked  white,  were  two  doves.  Then 
came  a  band  of  musicians,  singing,  playing  pipes,  beat- 
ing drums,  and  clashing  cymbals.  And  last  of  all,  slowly 
advancing  sidewise  in  two  long  lines,  appeared  a  grue- 
some company  of  men  in  white,  who  chanted  hoarsely 
and  slashed  their  shaven  heads  with  bloody  swords. 
The  blood-stained  figures  in  white,  the  black  flagellants, 
the  symbolic  horses,  the  mourning  banners,  the  points 
of  steel  answering  the  flare  of  the  torches,  made  strange 
matter  indeed  for  the  imagination,  moving  with  desper- 
ate music  through  that  veil  of  driving  snow. 

The  procession  marched  round  the  courtyard  three 
times  and  then  went  into  the  tent,  where  a  dirge  was 
chanted  in  honour  of  the  martyrs  of  Kerbela.  At  dif- 
ferent moments  of  the  ceremony,  and  particularly  at 
sight  of  the  child  and  the  doves  on  horseback  —  symbolic 
of  Hussein's  son,  who  was  killed  in  his  arms,  and  of  the 
souls  of  the  martyrs  —  many  a  Persian  among  the  spec- 
tators sobbed  uncontrolledly.  Other  spectators  smiled 
at  the  tears  streaming  down  bearded  cheeks  and  at  the 
frenzy  of  the  flagellants.  For  myself,  I  can  never  help 
feeling  respect  for  any  real  emotion,  however  far  I  may 
be  from  sharing  it.  People  say,  indeed,  that  these  pro- 
cessions are  not  what  they  used  to  be  and  that  much 
of  the  slashing  is  feigned.  That  may  well  enough  be. 
Still,  I  found  mj^self  compelled  to  turn  aside  when  the 
men  in  white  passed  in  front  of  me.  More  than  one 
of  them,  too,  had  to  be  helped  staggering  away  before 
the  procession  came  to  an  end.  It  is  not  every  one  who 
takes  part  in  these  ceremonies.  -  The  participants  are 
men  who  fulfil  a  vow  of  their  own  or  of  their  parents, 
usually   in   gratitude   for  some   deliverance.     Their  zeal 


TWO   PROCESSIONS  315 

is  so  great  that  it  is  necessary  to  draw  up  a  prelimi- 
nary schedule  for  the  processions,  so  that  no  two  shall 
meet  and  dispute  the  right  of  way.  Each  forms  in  its 
own  courtyard,  but  the  men  in  white  do  not  begin  their 
cutting  till  they  are  in  the  street.  When  the  marchers 
finally  return  to  their  own  ban  —  having,  in  the  mean- 
time, visited  the  public  bath  —  they  spread  rugs  on  the 
floor  of  the  tent  and  spend  the  evening  drinking  tea  and 
entertaining  their  friends. 

This  ceremony  is  repeated  in  a  milder  form  in  Scutari, 
on  the  day  after  ashoureh.  Early  in  the  morning  the 
Persians  flock  to  a  valley  of  cypresses  called  Seid  Ahmed 
Deresi,  which  is  a  corner  of  the  great  cemetery  reserved 
for  their  use.  There  they  rejoice  over  such  as  have  by 
their  own  blood  atoned  for  that  of  Hussein.  I  have  fol- 
lowed them  thither  only  once,  but  I  am  happy  to  say 
that  no  interment  took  place.  Tents  were  set  up  on  the 
edge  of  the  cemetery,  of  a  faded  green  that  admirably 
set  off  the  darker  cypresses,  and  close-packed  Persians 
squatted  in  them,  drinking  tea  or  smoking  their  terrible 
toumbeki.  More  Persians,  recognisable  by  their  black  caps 
if  not  by  their  cast  of  feature,  roamed  among  the  trees. 
Most  of  them  were  of  the  humbler  sort,  in  skirted  coats 
of  dull  colours.  Here  and  there  was  one  in  a  long  stiff 
fuzzy  black  cloak,  with  a  touch  of  gold  at  the  throat. 
Many  had  beards  dccoratively  reddened  with  henna,  and 
wore  their  hair  shaved  high  about  the  neck  and  off  the 
middle  of  the  forehead.  There  was  much  embracing  be- 
tween hairy  monsters  who  had  not  met,  perhaps,  since 
last  Mouharrem;  and  much  patronising  was  there  of 
ambulatory  venders  of  good  things  to  eat.  Finally,  at 
what  signal  I  know  not,  a  company  of  men  in  black 
marched  out  among  the  graves,  bearing  triangular  flags 
of  the  sort  I  have  already  described.     At  some  distance 


3i6      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

they   joined   forces   with   a   company   of  coloured   flags, 
headed  by  the  strange  ornaments  of  steel.     Two  of  the 
coloured  flags  should  have  been  in  a  museum  rather  than 
in  Scutari  cemetery  on  a  wet  winter  day.     They  were 
unusually  fine  examples  of  the  Persian  wood-block  print- 
ing, and  in  the  centre  of  each  smiled  an  inimitable  lion 
with  a  curly  tail.     These  two  companies  marched  chant- 
ing together  to  the  end  of  the  cemetery,  where  they  met 
a  third  made  up  of  flagellants.     But  this  time  there  were 
no  men  in  white  and  no  bloody  blades.     Then  they  all 
proceeded  down  the  long  road  to  the  water,  the  steel 
emblems  and  the  coloured  flags  first,  the  black  banners 
next,    and   the   flagellants   last,    chanting,    beating   their 
breasts,   and  swinging  their   heavy   chains.     Every   few 
steps   they   stopped   and   went   through   their   rite   with 
greater  zeal.     The  stops  were  longest  in  front  of  institu- 
tions and  great  houses,  where  a  mollah  would  intone  from 
a  parchment  manuscript  he  carried.     And  in  the  pictur- 
esque little  square  of  Top  Tashi,  where  some  fallen  Greek 
pillars   lie   in   front    of   the    madhouse    attached   to   the 
mosque  of  the  Valideh  Atik,  a  Roujai  dervish,  whom  I 
remembered  to  have  seen  in  the  tekkeh  of  Karaja  Ahmed, 
sang  a  long  threnody  in  honour  of  the  martyred  Hussein. 
The  procession  was  foflowed  by  hundreds  of  Persians  who 
joined  in  the  chanting  and  breast  beating.    Their  number, 
and   the   many   stops,    made   an   opportunity   for   street 
vendors  and  for  beggars.     Cripples  sat  on  either  side  of 
the   narrow  street  with   a   handkerchief  spread   out   in 
front  of  them  on  which  lay  a  few  suggestive  coins.     Gaudy 
gipsy  girls  were  not  ashamed  to  show  themselves  on  so 
solemn  an  occasion.     I  saw  two  women  of  a  race  strange 
to   me,   with   coppery   faces   and   a  perpendicular   mark 
painted   in   ochre   on  their   foreheads.     Strangest   of  all 
was   a   holy   man   who   stood   humbly   by   the   wayside. 


TWO   PROCESSIONS  317 

Yet,  after  all,  he  was  of  one  brotherhood  with  the  mourn- 
ers for  Hussein.  He  did  not  raise  his  eyes  as  the  proces- 
sion passed  him,  nor  did  he  hold  out  his  hand.  What 
first  attracted  my  attention  to  the  goodness  of  his  face 
were  two  small  round  reddish  things  between  which  I 
saw  it.  Then  I  made  out  the  reddish  things  to  be 
onions,  spitted  on  either  end  of  a  steel  skewer  that  pierced 
both  his  cheeks. 


XI 

GREEK   FEASTS 

One  of  the  most  characteristic  things  about  Constan- 
tinople is  that  while  it  has  become  Turkish  it  has  not 
ceased  to  be  Greek.  The  same  is  true  of  Thrace,  Mace- 
donia, and  the  fringe  of  Asia  Minor,  which  contain  large 
Turkish  and  other  populations,  but  which  still  form  a 
part  of  the  Greek  world  to  which  they  always  belonged. 
The  two  races  have  indisputably  influenced  each  other, 
as  their  languages  and  certain  of  their  customs  prove. 
A  good  deal  of  Greek  blood  now  flows,  too,  in  Turkish 
veins.  Nevertheless  there  has  been  remarkably  little 
assimilation,  after  five  hundred  years,  of  one  element  by 
the  other.  They  coexist,  each  perfectly  distinct  and 
each  claiming  with  perfect  reason  the  land  as  his  own. 

This  is  perhaps  one  cause  why  religious  festivals  are 
so  common  among  the  Greeks  of  Turkey.  It  is  as  a 
religious  community'  that  they  have  remained  separate 
since  the  conquest.  Through  their  religious  observances 
they  live  what  is  left  them  of  a  national  life  and  assert 
their  claim  to  the  great  tradition  of  their  race.  The  fact 
doubtless  has  something  to  do  with  the  persistence  of 
observances  that  elsewhere  tend  to  disappear.  At  all 
events,  those  observances  are  extremely  interesting. 
They  have  a  local  colour,  for  one  thing,  of  a  kind  that  has 
become  rare  in  Europe  and  that  scarcely  ever  existed  in 
America.  Then  they  are  reckoned  by  the  Julian  calendar, 
now  thirteen  days  behind  our  own,  and  that  puts  them 

318 


GREEK   FEASTS  319 

into  a  certain  perspective.  Their  true  perspective,  how- 
ever, reaches  much  farther  back.  Nor  is  it  merely  that 
they  compose  a  body  of  tradition  from  which  we  of  the 
West  have  diverged  or  separated.  Our  religious  cus- 
toms and  beliefs  did  not  spring  out  of  our  own  soil.  We 
transplanted  them  in  full  flower  from  Rome,  and  she  m 
turn  had  already  borrowed  largely  from  Greece  and  the 
East.  But  in  the  Levant  such  beliefs  and  customs  repre- 
sent a  native  growth,  whose  roots  run  far  deeper  than 
Christianity. 

In  the  Eastern  as  in  the  Western  church  the  essence 
of  the  religious  year  is  that  cycle  of  observances  that 
begin  with  Advent  and  culminate  at  Easter.  It  is  rather 
curious  that  Protestantism  should  have  disturbed  the 
symbolism  of  this  drama  by  transposing  its  climax. 
Chtistmas  with  the  Greeks  is  not  the  greater  feast.  One 
of  their  names  for  it,  in  fact,  is  Little  Easter.  It  is  pre- 
ceded, however,  by  a  fast  of  forty  days  nearly  as  strict 
as  Lent.  The  day  itself  is  purely  a  religious  festival.  A 
midnight  mass,  or  rather  an  early  mass,  is  celebrated  at 
one  or  two  o'clock  on  Christmas  morning,  after  which  the 
fast  is  broken  and  people  make  each  other  good  wishes. 
They  do  not  exchange  presents  or  follow  the  usage  of  the 
Christmas  tree,  that  invention  of  Northern  barbarism, 
except  in  places  that  have  been  largely  influenced  by  the 
West. 

The  real  holiday  of  the  season  is  New  Year's  Day. 
This  is  called  Ai  Vassili,  or  St.  Basil,  whose  name-day 
it  is.  There  is  an  old  ballad  relating  to  this  venerable 
Bishop  of  Cappadocia  —  too  long,  I  regret,  to  translate 
here  —  which  men  and  boys  go  about  singing  on  St. 
Basil's  eve.  The  musicians  are  rewarded  with  money, 
theoretically  for  the  poor  of  the  community.  If  it  hap- 
pens   to  stick    in  the   pockets    of  the  performers,   they 


320       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

doubtless  regard  themselves  as  representative  of  the 
brotherhood  for  whose  benefit  they  sing.  This  custom  is 
imitated  by  small  boys  who  go  among  the  coffee-houses 
after  dark,  begging.  They  make  themselves  known  by 
lanterns  that  are  oftenest  wicker  bird-cages  hned  with 
coloured  paper.  I  have  also  seen  ships,  castles,  and  aero- 
planes of  quite  elaborate  design.  These  curious  lanterns 
are  used  as  well  on  Christmas  and  Epiphany  eves  of 
both  calendars.  The  principal  feature  of  St.  Basil's 
eve  is  the  vassilopita,  a  kind  of  flat  round  cake  or  sweet 
bread  something  Hke  the  Tuscan  schiacciata.  At  mid- 
night the  head  of  the  house  cuts  the  pita  into  as  many 
pieces  as  there  are  members  of  the  family.  A  true  pita 
should  contain  a  coin,  and  whoever  gets  it  is  sure  to  have 
luck  during  the  new  year.  The  next  day  people  pay 
visits,  exchange  presents,  tip  servants,  and  make  merry 
as  they  wilL  They  also  go,  at  a  more  convenient  hour 
than  on  Christmas  morning,  to  church,  where  the  ancient 
hturgy  of  St.  Basil  is  read. 

Epiphany,  or  the  old  English  Twelfth-Night,  has  re- 
tained in  the  East  a  significance  that  it  has  lost  in  the 
West.  The  day  is  supposed  to  commemorate  the  bap- 
tism of  Christ  in  the  Jordan.  Hence  it  is  the  day  of  the 
blessing  of  waters,  whether  of  springs,  wells,  reservoirs, 
rivers,  or  the  sea.  Holy  water  plays  a  particular  role  in 
the  Greek  Church  —  although  the  Roman  custom  of 
moistening  the  fingers  with  it,  before  making  the  sign  of 
the  cross  on  entering  a  church,  is  not  followed.  On  the 
first  of  every  month  except  January  a  ceremony  called 
the  Little  Blessing  takes  place  in  the  churches,  when 
water  is  blessed;  and  this  ceremony  may  be  repeated  by 
request  in  private  houses.  In  January  the  Little  Bless- 
ing takes  place  on  Epiphany  eve,  the  fifth.  But  on 
Epiphany  itself,  as  early  in  the  morning  as  local  custom 


GREEK   FEASTS 


321 


may  dictate,  takes  place  the  Great  Blessing.  It  is  per- 
formed in  the  middle  of  the  church,  on  a  dais  decorated 
with  garlands  of  bay,  and  the  important  feature  of  the 
long  ceremony  is  the  dipping  of  a  cross  into  a  silver  basin 
of  water.  The  water  is  carefully  kept  in  bottles  through- 
out the  next  year  and  used  as  occasion  may  require.     It 


^.     '^ '  vft:.iu:^-^i 

^i^-pp—- 1.    ^    j,  ,^               "^H^H 

Blessing  the  Bosphorus 


is  sometimes  administered,  for  instance,  to  those  who  are 
not  thought  fit  to  take  the  full  communion.  The  out- 
door ceremony  which  follows  this  one  is  extremely  pic- 
turesque. In  Constantinople  it  may  be  seen  in  an}^  of 
the  numerous  Greek  waterside  communities  —  by  those 
who  care  to  get  up  early  enough  of  a  January  morning. 
One  of  the  best  places  is  Arnaout-kyoi,  a  large  Greek  vil- 
lage on  the  European  shore  of  the  Bosphorus,  where  the 


322      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

ceremony  is  obligingly  postponed  till  ten  or  eleven 
o'clock.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  service  in  the  church 
a  procession,  headed  by  clergy  in  gala  vestments  and 
accompanied  by  candles,  incense,  banners,  and  lanterns 
on  staves  of  the  sort  one  sees  in  Italy,  marches  to  the 
waterside.  There  it  is  added  to  by  shivering  mortals  in 
bathing  trunks.  They  behave  in  a  highly  unecclesiastical 
manner  in  their  anxiety  to  get  the  most  advantageous 
post  on  the  quay.  The  banners  and  lanterns  make  a 
screen  of  colour  on  either  side  of  the  priests,  incense  rises, 
choristers  chant,  a  bishop  in  brocade  and  cloth  of  gold, 
with  a  domed  gilt  mitre,  holds  up  a  small  cross;  he  makes 
the  holy  sign  with  it,  and  tosses  it  into  the  Bosphorus. 
There  is  a  terrific  splash  as  the  rivals  for  its  recovery  dive 
after  it.  In  days  gone  by  there  used  to  be  fights  no  less 
terrific  in  the  water  over  the  precious  object.  The  last 
time  I  saw  the  ceremony,  however,  there  was  nothing  of 
the  kind.  The  cross  was  even  made  of  wood,  so  that  there 
was  no  trouble  in  finding  it.  The  first  man  who  reached 
it  piously  put  it  to  his  lips  and  allowed  the  fellow  nearest 
him  to  do  the  same.  Then  the  half  dozen  of  them  pad- 
dled back  to  shore  and  hurried  off  to  get  warm.  The 
finder  of  the  cross  is  a  lucky  man  in  this  world  and 
the  world  to  come.  -  He  goes  from  house  to  house  with  the 
holy  emblem  he  has  rescued  from  the  deep,  and  people 
give  him  tips.  In  this  way  he  collects  enough  to  restore 
his  circulation  and  to  pass  a  convivial  Epiphany.  The 
cross  is  his  to  keep,  but  he  must  provide  a  new  one  for 
the  coming  year. 

The  blessing  of  the  waters  is  firmly  believed  by  many 
good  people  to  have  one  effect  not  claimed  by  mother 
church.  It  is  supposed,  that  is,  to.  exorcise  for  another 
year  certain  redoubtable  beings  known  as  kallikdntzari. 
The  name,  according  to  one  of  the  latest  authorities  on 


GREEK   FEASTS  323 

the  subject,^  means  the  good  centaurs.  Goodness,  how- 
ever, is  not  their  distinguishing  trait.  They  are  quarrel- 
some, mischievous,  and  destructive  monsters,  half  man, 
half  beast,  who  haunt  the  twelve  nights  of  the  Christmas 
season.  One  of  the  most  efficacious  means  of  scaring 
them  off  is  by  firebrands,  and  I  have  wondered  if  the  col- 
oured lanterns  to  which  I  have  alluded  might  owe  their 
origin  to  the  same  idea.  Many  pious  sailors  will  not 
venture  to  sea  during  the  twelve  days,  for  fear  of  these 
creatures.  The  unfurling  of  the  sails  is  one  of  the  cere- 
monies of  Epiphany  in  some  seaside  communities. 
Similarly,  no  one  —  of  a  certain  class  —  would  dream  of 
marrying  during  the  twelve  days,  while  a  child  so  unfor- 
tunate as  to  be  born  then  is  regarded  as  likely  to  become 
a  kaUikdntzaros  himself.  Here  a  teaching  of  the  church 
perhaps  mingles  with  the  popular  belief.  But  that  be- 
lief is  far  older  than  the  church,  going  back  to  Dionysus 
and  the  fauns,  satyrs,  and  sileni  who  accompanied  him. 
In  many  parts  of  the  Greek  world  it  is  still  the  custom 
for  men  and  boys  to  masquerade  in  furs  during  the  twelve 
days.  If  no  trace  of  the  custom  seems  to  survive  in 
Constantinople  it  may  be  because  the  early  fathers  of  the 
church  thundered  there  against  this  continuance  of  the 
antique  Dionysiac  revels,  which  became  the  Brumafia 
and  Saturnalia  of  the  Romans. 

I  should  not  say  that  no  trace  survives,  because  Car- 
nival is,  of  course,  a  fineal  descendant  of  those  ancient 
winter  celebrations.  As  it  exists  in  Constantinople,  how- 
ever, Carnival  is  for  the  most  part  but  a  pale  copy  of  an 
Itahan  original,  imported  perhaps  by  the  Venetians  and 
Genoese.  It  affords  none  the  less  pleasure  to  those  who 
participate  in  it,  and  curiosity  of  various  colours  to  the 
members  of  the  ruling  race.     I  remember  one  night  in 

'J.  C.  Lawson:   "  ]\Iodcrn  Greek  Folklore  and  Ancient  Greek  Religion." 


324       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

Pera  overhearing  two  venerable  fezzes  with  regard  to  a 
troop  of  maskers  that  ran  noisily  by.  "What  is  this 
play?"  inquired  one  old  gentleman,  who  evidently  had 
never  seen  it  before  and  who  as  evidently  looked  upon  it 
with  disapproval.  "Eh,"  rephed  the  other,  the  initiated 
and  the  more  indulgent  old  gentleman,  "they  pass  the 
time!"  The  time  they  pass  is  divided  differently  than 
with  us  of  the  West.  The  second  Sunday  before  Lent 
is  called  Apokred  and  is  the  day  of  farewell  to  meat. 
Which  for  the  rehgious  it  actually  is,  although  the  gai- 
eties of  Carnival  are  then  at  their  height.  The  ensuing 
Sunday  is  called  Cheese  Sunday,  because  that  amount 
of  indulgence  is  permitted  during  the  week  preceding 
it.  After  Cheese  Sunday,  however,  no  man  should  touch 
cheese,  milk,  butter,  oil,  eggs,  or  even  fish  —  though  an 
exception  is  made  in  favour  of  caviar,  out  of  which  a 
dehcious  Lenten  savoury  is  made.  Lent  begins  not  on 
the  Wednesday  but  on  the  Monday,  which  is  called  Clean 
Monday.  In  fact  the  first  week  of  Lent  is  called  Clean 
Week.  Houses  are  then  swept  and  garnished  and  the 
fast  is  stricter  than  at  any  time  save  Holy  Week.  The 
very  pious  eat  nothing  at  all  during  the  first  three  days 
of  Lent. 

Clean  Monday,  nevertheless,  is  a  great  hohday.  In 
Constantinople  it  is  also  called  Tatavia  Day,  because 
every  one  goes  out  to  Tatavia,  a  quarter  bordering  on 
open  country  between  ShishH  and  Hass-kyoi.  A  some- 
what similar  custom  prevails  in  Venice,  where  every  one 
goes  on  Ash  Wednesday  to  promenade  on  the  ordinarily 
deserted  quay  of  the  Zattere.  But  no  masks  are  seen  on 
the  Zattere  on  Ash  Wednesday,  whereas  masks  are  the 
order  of  the  day  at  Tatavia  on  Clean  Monday.  They 
are  not  so  much  the  order  of  the  day,  however,  as  the 
progress  of  a  traditional  camel,  each  of  whose  legs  is  a 


GREEK   FEASTS 


3^5 


man.  It  carries  a  load  of  charcoal  and  garlic,  which  are 
powerful  tahsmans  against  evil,  and  it  is  led  about  by  a 
picturesquely  dressed  camel  driver  whose  face  is  daubed 
with  blue.  This  simple  form  of  masquerading,  a  com- 
mon one  at  Tatavia,  descends  directly  from  the  pagan 


The  dancing  Epirotes 


Dionysia.  Another  picturesque  feature  of  the  day  is  the 
dancing  by  Epirotes  —  Greeks  or  Christian  Albanians. 
Masquerading  with  these  exiles  consists  in  twisting  a 
handkerchief  about  their  heads  in  guise  of  a  fillet  and 
in  putting  on  the  black  or  white  Justanella  —  w^ith  its 
accompanying  accoutrements  —  of  their  native  hills. 
They  form  rings  in  the  middle  of  the  crowd,  which  is  kept 


326      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

back  by  one  of  their  number  called  the  Shepherd.  Like 
the  Christmas  mummers  of  the  Greek  islands,  he  wears 
skins  and  has  a  big  bronze  sheep  or  camel  bell  fastened 
to  some  part  of  him.  He  also  carries  a  staff  to  which  is 
attached  a  bunch  of  garlic  for  good  luck.  He  often  wears 
a  mask  as  well,  or  is  otherwise  disguised,  and  his  clown- 
eries give  great  amusement.  In  the  meantime  his  com- 
panions join  hands  and  dance  around  the  ring  to  the  tune 
of  a  pipe  or  a  violin.  The  first  two  hold  the  ends  of  a 
handkerchief  instead  of  joining  hands,  which  enables  the 
leader  to  go  through  more  complicated  evolutions.  Some- 
times he  is  preceded  by  one  or  two  sword  dancers,  who 
know  how  to  make  the  most  of  their  hanging  sleeves  and 
pleated  kilts.  Some  of  these  romantic  young  gentlemen 
are  singularly  handsome,  which  does  not  prepare  one  to 
learn  that  they  are  butchers'  boys. 

The  Greeks  keep  no  mi-careme,  as  the  Latins  do. 
Their  longer  and  severer  fast  continues  unbroken  till 
Easter  morning  —  unless  Annunciation  Day  happens  to 
fall  in  Lent.  Then  they  are  allowed  the  indulgence  of 
fish.  Holy  Week  is  with  them  Great  Week.  Services 
take  place  in  the  churches  every  night  except  Wednesday, 
and  commemorate  the  events  of  Jerusalem  in  a  more 
dramatic  way  than  even  in  the  Roman  Church.  The  sym- 
bolic washing  of  the  disciples'  feet,  however,  which  takes 
place  in  Jerusalem  on  Holy  Thursday,  is  not  performed 
in  Constantinople  except  by  the  Armenians.  On  Good, 
or  Great,  Friday  a  cenotaph  is  erected  in  the  nave  of  each 
church,  on  which  is  laid  an  embroidery  or  some  other 
representation  of  the  crucifixion.  Sculpture  is  not  per- 
mitted in  the  Greek  Church,  although  on  this  one  occa- 
sion a  statue  has  sometimes  been  seen.  The  faithful 
flock  during  the  day  to  the  cenotaph,  where  they  kiss  the 
embroidery  and  make  some  small  donation.     Each  one 


GREEK   FEASTS  3^7 

receives  from  the  acolyte  in  charge  a  jonquil  or  a  hyacinth. 
This  graceful  custom  is  perhaps  a  relic  of  the  Eleusinian 
Mysteries,  which  Easter  superseded  and  with  whose  sym- 
bolism, celebrating  as  they  did  the  myth  of  Demeter  and 
Persephone,  it  has  so  much  in  common.  Spring  flowers, 
at  all  events,  play  a  part  at  Easter  quite  difi'erent  from 
our  merely  decorative  use  of  them.  Flower  stands  are 
almost  as  common  at  church  doors  as  candle  stands. 
For  people  also  make  the  round  of  the  icons  in  the 
churches,  on  Good  Friday,  lighting  votive  tapers  here 
and  there.  The  true  use  of  the  tapers,  however,  is  after 
dark.  Then  a  procession  figuring  the  entombment  of 
Christ  issues  from  the  church  with  the  image  of  the 
cenotaph  and  makes  the  circuit  of  the  court  or,  in  purely 
Greek  communities,  of  the  surrounding  streets,  accom- 
panied by  a  crowd  of  lighted  candles.  The  image  is 
finally  taken  to  the  holy  table,  where  it  remains  for  forty 
days. 

An  even  more  striking  ceremony  takes  place  on 
Saturday  night.  About  midnight  people  begin  to  gather 
in  the  churches,  which  are  aromatic  with  the  flowering 
bay  strewn  on  the  floor.  Every  one  carries  a  candle 
but  none  are  lighted  —  not  even  before  the  icons.  The 
service  begins  with  antiphonal  chanting.  The  ancient 
Byzantine  music  sounds  stranger  than  ever  in  the  dim 
light,  sung  by  the  black-robed  priests  with  black  veils 
over  their  tall  black  caps.  Finally,  the  celebrant,  in  a 
purple  cope  of  mourning,  withdraws  behind  the  icono- 
stdsion,  the  screen  that  in  a  Greek  church  divides  the  holy 
table  from  the  chancel.  As  the  chant  proceeds  candles 
are  lighted  in  certain  chandeliers.  Then  the  door  of  the 
sanctuary  is  thrown  open,  revealing  a  blaze  of  light  and 
colour  within.  The  celebrant  comes  out  in  magnificent 
vestments,  holding  a  lighted  candle  and  saying:   "Come 


328      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

to  the  light."  Those  nearest  him  reach  out  their  own 
tapers  to  take  the  sacred  fire,  and  from  them  it  is  prop- 
agated in  an  incredibly  short  time  through  the  entire 
church.  In  the  meantime  the  priests  march  in  proces- 
sion out-of-doors,  headed  by  a  banner  emblematic  of  the 
resurrection.  And  there,  surrounded  by  the  flickering 
lights  of  the  congregation,  the  celebrant  chants  the 
triumphant  resurrection  hymn.  At  this  point  tradition 
demands  that  the  populace  should  express  their  own  senti- 
ments by  a  volley  of  pistol-shots.  But  since  the  reaction- 
ary uprising  of  1909,  when  soldiers  took  advantage  of  the 
Greek  Easter  to  make  such  tragic  use  of  their  own  arms, 
an  attempt  has  been  made  in  Constantinople  to  suppress 
this  detail.  I  have  been  told  that  each  shot  is  aimed  at 
Judas.  The  unfaithful  apostle,  at  all  events,  used  to  be 
burned  in  efTigy  on  Good  Friday  at  Therapia.  And  I 
have  heard  of  other  customs  of  a  similar  bearing. 

The  patriarchal  church  at  Phanar  is  the  most  inter- 
esting place  to  see  the  ceremonies  of  Easter  morning. 
They  are  not  for  every  one  to  see,  by  reason  of  the  small- 
ness  of  the  church.  One  must  have  a  friend  at  court  in 
order  to  obtain  a  ticket  of  admission.  Even  then  one 
may  miss,  as  I  once  did  through  ignorance,  and  perhaps 
through  a  lack  of  that  persistence  which  should  be  the 
portion  of  the  true  tourist,  certain  characteristic  scenes 
of  the  day.  Thus  I  failed  to  witness  the  robing  of  the 
Patriarch  by  the  prefates  of  his  court.  Neither  did  I 
get  a  photograph  of  them  all  marching  in  procession  to 
the  church,  though  I  had  moved  heaven  and  earth  — ■ 
i.  e.,  a  bishop  and  an  ambassador —  for  permission  to  do- 
so.  Nevertheless,  I  had  an  excellent  view  of  the  cere- 
mony of  the  second  resurrection,  as  the  Easter  morning 
vespers  are  called.  The  procession  entered  the  church 
led   by  small  boys  in  white  and  gold  w^ho  carried  a  tall 


GREEK   FEASTS  329 

cross,  two  gilt  exepthigha  on  staves,  symbolic  of  the  six- 
winged  cherubim,  and  lighted  candles.  After  them  came 
choristers  singing.  The  men  wore  a  species  of  fez  en- 
tirely covered  by  its  spread-out  tassel.  One  carried  an 
immense  yellow  candle  in  front  of  the  officiating  clergy, 
who  marched  two  and  two  in  rich  brocaded  chasubles. 
Their  long  beards  gave  them  a  dignity  which  is  sometimes 
lacking  to  their  Western  brothers,  while  the  tall  black 
kalymdjhion,  brimrricd  shghtly  at  the  top  with  a  true 
Greek  sense  of  outHne,  is  certainly  a  more  imposing  head- 
dress than  the  biretta.  The  Patriarch  came  next,  pre- 
ceded and  followed  by  a  pair  of  acolytes  carrying  two  and 
three  lighted  candles  tied  together  with  white  rosettes. 
These  candles  symboHse  the  two  natures  of  Christ  and 
the  Trinity;  with  them  His  Hohness  is  supposed  to  dis- 
pense his  blessing.  He  wore  magnificent  vestments  of 
white  satin  embroidered  with  blue  and  green  and  gold. 
A  large  diamond  cross  and  other  glittering  objects  hung 
about  his  neck.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  crosier  of  silver 
and  gold  and  on  his  head  he  wore  a  domed  crown-hke 
mitre.  It  was  surmounted  by  a  cross  of  gold,  around  it 
were  ornaments  of  enamel  and  seed  pearls,  and  in  the 
gold  circlet  of  its  base  were  set  immense  sapphires  and 
other  precious  stones.  The  Patriarch  was  followed  by 
members  of  the  Russian  embassy,  of  the  Greek,  Monte- 
negrin, Roumanian,  and  Servian  legations,  and  by  the 
lay  dignitaries  of  his  own  entourage,  whose  uniforms  and 
decorations  added  what  they  could  to  the  splendour  of 
the  occasion.  These  personages  took  their  places  in  the 
body  of  the  nave  —  standing,  as  is  always  the  custom  in 
the  Greek  Church  —  w^hile  the  clergy  went  behind  the 
screen  of  the  sanctuary.  The  Patriarch,  after  swinging  a 
silver  censer  through  the  church,  took  his  place  at  the 
right  of  the  chancel  on  a  high  canopied  throne  of  carved 


330      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

wood  inlaid  with  ivory.  He  made  a  wonderful  picture 
there  with,  his  fine  profile  and  long  white  beard  and  gor- 
geous vestments.  On  a  lower  and  smaller  throne  at  his 
right  sat  the  Grand  Logothete.  The  Grand  Logothete 
happens  at  present  to  be  a  preternaturally  small  man, 
and  time  h^s  greatly  diminished  his  dignities.  The  glit- 
ter of  his  decorations,  however,  and  the  antiquity  of  his 
office  make  him  what  compensation  they  can.  His  office 
is  an  inheritance  of  Byzantine  times,  when  he  was  a  min- 
ister of  state.  Now  he  is  the  official  representative  of  the 
Patriarch  at  the  Sublime  Porte  and  accompanies  him  to 
the  Palace  when  His  Hohness  has  audience  of  the  Sultan. 
No  rite,  I  suppose,  surpasses  that  of  the  Greek  Church 
in  splendour.  The  carved  and  gilded  iconostasis,  the 
icons  set  about  with  gold,  the  multitude  of  candles, 
precious  lamps,  and  chandeliers,  the  rich  vestments,  the 
clouds  of  incense,  make  an  overpowering  appeal  to  the 
senses.  To  the  Western  eye,  however,  there  is  too  much 
gilt  and  blaze  for  perfect  taste,  there  are  too  many  ob- 
jects in  proportion  to  the  space  they  fill.  And  certainly 
to  the  Western  ear  the  Byzantine  chant,  however  inter- 
esting on  account  of  its  descent  from  the  antique  Greek 
modes,  lacks  the  charm  of  the  Gregorian  or  of  the 
beautiful  Russian  choral.  At  a  point  of  the  service 
the  Gospels  were  read  by  different  voices  in  a  number 
of  different  languages.  I  recognised  Latin  and  Slavic 
among  them.  Finally,  the  Patriarch  withdrew  in  the 
same  state  as  he  entered.  On  his  w^ay  to  his  own  apart- 
ments he  paused  on  an  open  gallery  and  made  an  address 
to  the  crowd  in  the  court  that  had  been  unable  to  get 
into  the  church.  Then  he  held  in  the  great  saloon  of  his 
palace  a  levee  of  those  who  had  been  in  the  church,  and 
each  of  them  was  presented  with  gaily  decorated  Easter 
eggs  and  with  a  cake  called,  curiously  enough,  by  the 


GREEK   FEASTS  331 

Persian  name  of  chorek  —  except  that  the  Greeks  mis- 
pronounce it  tsoureki.  These  dainties  are  the  universal 
evidence  of  the  Greek  Easter  —  these  and  the  sakitation 
"Christ  is  risen,"  to  which  answer  is  made  by  Hps  the 
least  sanctimonious:  "In  truth  he  is  risen."  Holy 
Thursday  is  the  traditional  day  for  dyeing  eggs.  On 
Holy  Saturday  the  Patriarch  sends  an  ornamental  basket 
of  eggs  and  chorek  to  the  Sultan.  Chorek  is  Uke  the 
Easter  cake  of  nor-thern  Italy.  It  is  a  sort  of  big  brioche 
made  in  three  strands  braided  together. 

Easter  Monday  is  in  some  ways  a  greater  feast  than 
Easter  itself.  In  Constantinople  the  Christian  popula- 
tion is  so  large  that  when  the  Greeks  and  Armenians  stop 
work  their  fellow  citizens  find  it  easy  to  follow  suit. 
The  Phanar  is  a  favourite  place  of  resort  throughout  the 
Easter  hoHdays,  an  open  space  between  the  patriarchate 
and  the  Golden  Horn  being  turned  into  a  large  and  Hvely 
fair.  The  traditional  place  for  the  celebration  of  the 
day,  however,  is  in  the  open  spaces  of  the  Taxim,  on  the 
heights  of  Pera.  The  old  travellers  all  have  a  chapter 
about  the  festivities  which  used  to  take  place  there,  and 
remnants  of  them  may  still  be  seen.  The  Armenians 
gather  chiefly  in  a  disused  cemetery  of  their  cult,  where 
the  tomb  of  a  certain  St.  Kevork  is  honoured  at  this 
season  and  where  peasants  from  Asia  Minor  may  some- 
times be  seen  dancing  among  the  graves.  A  larger  and 
noisier  congregation  assembles  at  the  upper  edge  of  the 
parade-ground  across  the  street.  Not  a  little  colour  is 
given  to  it  by  Greeks  from  the  region  of  Trebizond,  who 
sometimes  are  not  Greeks  at  all,  but  Laz,  and  who  often 
wear  the  hood  of  that  mysterious  people  knotted  around 
their  heads.  They  have  a  strange  dance  which  they  con- 
tinue hour  after  hour  to  the  tune  of  a  little  viohn  hanging 
from  the  player's  hand.     They  hold  each  other's  fingers 


332       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

in  the  air,  and  as  they  dance  they  keep  up  a  quivering  in 
their  thighs,  which  they  vary  by  crouching  to  their  heels 
and  throwing  out  first  one  leg  and  then  the  other  with  a 
shout.  An  even  more  positive  touch  of  colour  is  given  to 
the  scene  by  the  Kurds.  They  set  up  a  tent  in  front  of 
which  a  space  is  partially  enclosed  by  screens  of  the  same 
material.  I  remember  seeing  one  such  canvas  that  was 
lined  with  a  vivid  yellow  pattern  on  a  red  ground.  There 
swarthy  Kiirds  in  gaily  embroidered  jackets  or  waistcoats 
gather  to  smoke,  to  drink  tea,  and  to  dance  in  their  own 
more  sedate  way,  while  gipsies  pipe  unto  them  and  pound 
a  big  drum.  I  once  asked  one  of  the  dancers  how  it 
was  that  he,  being  no  Christian,  made  merry  at  Easter 
time.  "Eh,"  he  answered,  ''there  is  no  work.  Also, 
since  the  constitution  we  are  all  one,  and  if  one  nation 
rejoices,  the  others  rejoice  with  it.  Now  all  that  re- 
mains," he  went  on,  "is  that  there  should  be  no  rich  and 
no  poor,  and  that  we  should  all  have  money  together." 
Interesting  as  I  found  this  socialistic  opinion  in  the  mouth 
of  a  Kurdish  hamal,  I  could  not  help  remembering  how 
it  had  been  put  into  execution  in  1896,  when  the  Kiirds 
massacred  the  Armenian  hamals  and  wrested  from  the 
survivors  the  profitable  guild  of  the  street  porters.  It 
was  then  that  the  Easter  glory  departed  from  the  Taxim. 
But  the  place  had  already  been  overtaken  by  the  grow- 
ing city,  while  increasing  facilities  of  communication  now 
daily  lengthen  the  radius  of  the  holiday  maker. 

One  assembly  of  Easter  week  which  still  is  to  be  seen 
in  something  of  its  pristine  glory  is  the  fair  of  Balikli. 
This  takes  place  on  the  Friday  and  lasts  through  Sunday.. 
The  scene  of  it  is  the  monastery  of  Balikli,  outside  the 
land  walls  of  Stamboul.  It  is  rather  curious  that  the 
Turkish  name  of  so  ancient  a  place  should  have  super- 
seded even  among  the  Greeks   its   original  appellation. 


GREEK   FEASTS  333 

The  Byzantine  emperors  had  a  villa  there  and  several  of 
them  built  churches  in  the  vicinity.     The  name  Balikli, 
however,  which  might  be  translated  as  the  Fishy  Place, 
comes  from  the  legend  every  one  knows  of  the  Greek 
monk  who  was  frving  fish  when  news  was  brought  him 
that  the  Turks  had  taken  the  city.     He  refused  to  believe 
it    saying  he  would  do  so  if  his  fish  jumped  out  of  the 
frying-pan  —  not  into  the  fire,  but  into  the  spring  beside 
him. ''which  they  promptly  did.     Since  when  the  life- 
giving  spring,  as  it  is  called,  has  been  populated  by  fish 
that  look  as  if  they  were  half  fried.     The  thing  on  Ba- 
Kkli  day  is  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  pool  of  these 
miraculous  fish,  to  drink  of  the  water  in  which  they  swim, 
to  wash  one's  hands  and  face  and  hair  m  it,  and  to  take 
gome  of  it  awav  in  a  bottle.     The  spring  is  at  one  end  ot 
a  dark  chapel,  half  underground,  into  which  the  crowd 
squeezes  in  batches.     After  receiving  the  benefits  of  the 
holy  water  vou  kiss  the  icons  in  the  chapel.     A  priest  m 
an   embroidered   stole,   who   holds   a  small   cross   in   his 
hand,  will  then  make  the  holy  sign  with  it  upon  your  per- 
son and  ofl'er  you  the  cross  and  his  hand  as  well  to  kiss, 
in  return  for  which  you  drop  a  coin  into  the  slot  of  a  big 
box  beside  him.     Candles  are  also  to  be  had  for  burning 
at  the  various  icons.     The  greater  number  of  these,  how- 
ever, are  in  the  monastery  church  hard  by.     And  so  many 
candles    burn    before    them    that    attendants    go    about 
every  few  minutes,  blow  out  the  candles,  and  throw  them 
into  a  box,  to  make  room  for  new  candles.     There  are 
also  priests  to  whom  you  tell  your  name,  which  they  add 
to  a  long  list,  and  in  return  for  the  coin  you  leave  behind 
vou  they  pray  for  blessing  upon  the  name.     All  this  is 
interesting  to  watch,  by  reason  of  the  great  variety  ot 
the  pilgrims  and  the  unconscious  lingering  of  paganism 
in  their  faith.     And,  while  there  is  a  hard  commercial 


334      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

side  to  it  all,  you  must  remember  that  a  hospital  and 
other  charitable  institutions  largely  profit  thereby. 

There  are  also  interesting  things  to  watch  outside  the 
monastery  gate.  Temporary  coiTec-houses  and  eating 
places  are  established  there  in  abundance,  and  the  hum 
of  festivity  that  arises  from  them  may  be  heard  afar 
among  the  cypresses  of  the  surrounding  Turkish  cemetery. 
I  must  add  that  spirituous  liquors  are  dispensed  with 
some  freedom;  for  the  Greek  does  not  share  the  hesita- 
tion of  his  Turkish  brother  in  such  matters,  and  he  con- 
siders it  well-nigh  a  Christian  duty  to  imbibe  at  Easter. 
To  imbibe  too  much  at  that  season,  as  at  New  Year's  and 
one  or  two  other  great  feasts,  is  by  no  means  held  to 
impair  a  man's  reputation  for  sobriety.  It  is  surprising, 
however,  how  soberly  the  pleasures  of  the  day  are  in 
general  taken.  As  you  sit  at  a  table,  absorbing  your  own 
modest  refreshment,  you  are  even  struck  by  a  certain 
stohdity  in  those  about  you.  Perhaps  it  is  partly  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  crowd  is  not  purely  Greek.  Arme- 
nians are  there,  Bulgarians,  Albanians,  Turks  too.  Then 
many  of  the  pilgrims  are  peasants,  come  in  ox-carts  from 
outlying  villages  and  dazzled  a  Httle  by  this  urban  press. 
They  listen  in  pure  .delight  to  the  music  that  pours  from 
a  hundred  instruments.  The  crowning  glory  of  such  an 
occasion  is  to  have  a  musician  sit  at  the  table  with  you, 
preferably  a  hand-organ  man  or  a  gipsy  with  his  pipe. 
Gipsy  women  go  about  telling  fortunes.  "You  are  going 
to  have  great  calamities,"  utters  one  darkly  when  you 
refuse  to  hear  your  fate.  "  Is  that  the  way  to  get  a  piastre 
out  of  me?"  you  ask.  "But  afterward  you  will  become 
very  rich,"  she  condescends  to  add.  Other  gipsies  carry 
miniature  marionette  shows  on  their  backs  in  glass  cases. 
Wandering  musicians  tempt  you  to  employ  their  arts. 
Vendors  of  unimaginable  sweets  pick  their  way  among  the 


GREEK   FEASTS  335 

tables.     Beggars  exhibit  horrible  deformities  and  make 
artful  speeches.     "May  you  enjoy  your  youth!"  is  one. 
"May  you  know  no  bitternesses!"  exelaims  another  with 
meaning    emphasis.     "May    God    forgive    your    dead," 
utters  a  third.     "The  world  I  hear,  but  the  world  I  do 
not  see,"  cries  a  blind  man  melodramatically:     "Little 
eves   I   have   none."     Diminutives   are   much   in   favour 
among  this  gentry.     And  every  two  minutes  some  one 
comes  with  a  platter  or  with  a  brass  casket  sealed  with  a 
big  red  seal  and  says,  "Your  assistance,"  adding,  "for  the 
church,"  or  "for  the  school,"  or  "for  the  hospital,"  if  you 
seem  to  fail  to  take  in  what  is  expected  of  you.     Your 
assistance   need   not   be   very   heavy,   however,   and  you 
feel  that  you  owe  something  in  return  for  the  pleasures 
of,  the  occasion. 

Beyond  the  circle  of  eating  places  stretches  an  open 
field  which  is  the  scene  of  the  more  active  enjoyment  of 
the  day.     There  the  boat-swings  beloved  of  Constanti- 
nople   children    are    installed,    together    with    merry-go- 
rounds,  weights  which  one  sends  to  the  top  of  a  pole  by 
means  of  a  hammer  blow,  and  many  another  world-old 
device   for  parting  the  holiday   maker   and   his   money. 
One  novel  variant  is  an  inclined  wire,  down  which  boys 
slide  hanging  from  a  pulley.     Dancing  is  the  favourite 
recreation  of  the  men.     When  they  happen  to  be  Bulgars 
of  Macedonia  they  join  hands  and  circle  about  one  of 
their  number  who"'  plays  the  bagpipe.     Every  few  steps 
the  leader  stops  and,  steadied  by  the  man  who  holds  the 
other  end  of  his  handkerchief,  indulges  in  posturings  ex- 
pressive of  supreme  enjoyment.     The  pashalidlico  of  the 
Greeks  is  less  curious  but  more  graceful.     After  watching 
the  other  dances,  picturesque  as  they  are,  one  seems  to 
come  back  with  it  to  the  old  Greek  sense  of  measure. 
And  it  is  danced  with  a  lightsomeness  which  is  less  evi- 


336       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

dent  with  other  races.  The  men  put  their  hands  on 
each  other's  shoulders  and  circle  in  a  sort  of  barn-dance 
step  to  the  strains  of  a  lanterna.     Of  which  more  anon. 

The  feast  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Fishes   is  one  of  the 
greatest    popular    festivals    in    Constantinople.     By    no 


Bulgarians  dancing 


means,  however,  is  it  the  only  one  of  its  kind.  The  cult 
of  holy  wells  forms  a  chapter  by  itself  in  the  observances 
of  the  Greek  Church.  This  cult  has  an  exceptional  in- 
terest for  those  who  have  been  touched  by  the  classic  in-_ 
fluence,  as  offering  one  of  the  most  visible  points  at  which 
Christianity  turned  to  its  own  use  the  customs  of  pagan- 
ism. An  ayi'acr/xa,  an  dyazma  as  the  Greeks  collo- 
quially call  it,  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  the  sacred 


GREEK   FEASTS 


337 


fount  of  antiquity.  Did  not  Horace  celebrate  such  a 
one  in  his  ode  to  the  Fons  Bandusise  ?  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  a  belief  in  naiads  still  persists  among  Greek  peasants. 
And  you  can  pay  a  lady  no  greater  compliment  than  to 
tell  her  that  she  looks,  or  even  that  she  cooks,  like  a  nereid. 


Greeks  dancincj  to  the  strains  of  a  lanterna 


For  under  that  comprehensive  style  the  nymphs  are  now 
known.  But  as  guardians  of  sacred  founts  they,  like  some 
of  the  greater  divinities,  have  been  baptised  with  Chris- 
tian names.  There  is  an  infinity  of  such  springs  in  and 
about  Constantinople.  Comparatively  few  of  them  are 
so  well  housed  as  the  dyazma  of  Balikli.  Some  of  them 
are  scarcely  to  be  recognised  from  any  profane  rill  in 
the  open  country,  while  others  are  in  Turkish  hands  and 


338      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND    NEW 

accessible  only  on  the  day  of  the  saint  to  which  the\' 
are  dedicated.  On  that  day,  and  in  the  case  of  an 
uyazma  of  some  repute  on  the  days  i^efore  and  after  — 
unless  the  nearest  Sunday  determine  otherwise  — -  is  cele- 
brated the  paniyiri  of  the  patron  of  the  spring.  Pani- 
xiri,  or  panayiri  as  perhaps  it  is  more  commonly  known, 
has  the  same  origin  as  our  word  panegyric.  For  the 
reading  of  the  saint's  panegNric  is  one  of  the  religious 
exercises  of  the  day.  Which,  Hke  the  early  Christian 
agape  and  the  contemporary  Italian  Jesta,  is  another  sur- 
vival of  an  okler  faith.  During  the  Byzantine  period 
the  annual  pilgrimage  in  state  of  an  emperor  to  one  of 
the  shrines  of  the  city  was  a  7rav7]yupi<;.  But  religious 
exercises  are  not  the  essential  part  of  a  patiayiri  to  most 
of  those  who  take  part  in  one.  Nor  need  a  paimyiri  neces- 
sarily take  place  at  a  holy  welL  The  number  of  them 
that  do  take  place  is  quite  fabulous.  Still,  as  the  jo}^  of 
life  was  discovered  in  Greece,  who  shall  blame  the  Greeks 
of  to-day  for  finding  so  many  occasions  to  manifest  it? 
And  it  is  natural  that  these  occasions  should  oftenest 
arise  during  the  clement  half  of  the  year,  when  the  greater 
feasts  of  the  church  are  done. 

One  of  the  earliest  "panegyrics"  of  the  season  is  that 
of  A'i  Sardnda,  which  is  held  on  the  9th/22d  of  March. 
Ai  Sardnda  means  St.  Forty  to  many  good  people,  al- 
though others  designate  thereby  the  Forty  Martyrs  of 
Sebaste  —  now  the  Turkish  city  of  Sivas.  There  is  a 
spring  dedicated  to  these  worthies  on  the  outskirts  of 
Pera,  between  the  place  called  The  Stones  and  the  Palace 
of  Dolma  Ba'hcheh.  I  fmd  it  difficult  to  share  the 
popular  belief  that  the  forty  martyrs  of  Sivas  ever  had 
anything  to  do  with  this  site.  It  is  true  that  the  pious 
Empress  Pulcheria  dug  them  up  in  the  fifth  century  and 
transported  them  w^ith  great  pomp  to  the  church  she  built 


GREEK   FEASTS  339 

for  them  on  the  farther  side  of  the  Golden  Horn.  It  is 
also  true  that  their  church  was  demoHshed  shortly  before 
the  Turkish  conquest,  and  its  marbles  used  in  fortify- 
ing the  Golden  Gate.  But  why  should  a  Turkish  tomb 
on  the  hillside  above  the  dyazma  be  venerated  by  the 
Greeks  as  the  last  resting-place  of  "St.  Forty"?  Has  it 
anything  to  do  with  the  fact  that  the  forty  martyrs  are 
commemorated  at  the  vernal  equinox,  which  happens  to 
be  the  New  Year  of  the  Persians  and  which  the  Turks  also 
observe? 

Being  ignorant  of  all  these  matters,  my  attention  was 
drawn  quite  by  accident  to  the  tomb  in  question  by  some 
women  who  were  tying  rags  to  the  grille  of  a  window. 
The  act  is  common  enough  in  the  Levant,  among  Chris- 
tians and  Mohammedans  ahke.  It  signifies  a  wish  on 
the  part  of  the  person  who  ties  the  rag,  which  should  be 
torn  from  his  own  clothing.  More  specifically,  it  is  some- 
times supposed  to  bind  to  the  bar  any  malady  with  which 
he  may  happen  to  be  afilicted.  Near  this  grille  was  a 
doorway  through  which  I  saw  people  coming  and  go- 
ing. I  therefore  decided  to  investigate.  Having  paid  ten 
paras  for  that  privilege  to  a  little  old  Turk  with  a  long 
white  beard,  I  found  myself  in  a  typical  Turkish  tiirbeh. 
In  the  centre  stood  a  ridged  and  turbaned  catafalque, 
while  Arabic  inscriptions  adorned  the  walls.  I  asked  the 
hoja  in  attendance  who  might  be  buried  there.  He  told 
me  that  the  Greeks  consider  the  tomb  to  be  that  of  St. 
Forty,  while  the  Turks  honour  there  the  memory  of  a 
certain  holy  Ahmed.  I  would  willingly  have  known  more 
about  this  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde  of  a  saint;  but  others 
pressed  behind  me,  and  the  hoja  asked  if  I  were  not  going 
to  "  circulate."  He  also  indicated  the  left  side  of  the  cata- 
falque as  the  place  for  me  to  begin.  I  accordingly  walked 
somewhat    leisurelv    around    the    room.     When    I    came 


340       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

back  to  the  hoju  he  surprised  inc  not  a  Httle  by  throwing 
a  huge  string  of  wooden  beads  over  my  head,  obliging 
me  to  step  elear  of  them.  He  then  directed  me  to  cir- 
culate twice  more,  which  I  did  with  more  intelligence, 
he  muttering  some  manner  of  in\'ocation  the  while.  The 
third  time  I  was  considerably  delayed  by  a  Greek  lady 
with  two  little  boys  who  carried  toy  balloons.  The  little 
boys  and  their  I^alloon  strings  got  tangled  In  the  string 
of  the  big  wooden  beads,  and  one  of  the  balloons  broke 
away  to  the  ceiHng,  occasioning  fearful  sounds  of  Lamen- 
tation in  the  holy  phice.  The  boja  kept  his  temper  ad- 
mn-ably,  however.  He  was  not  too  put  out  to  inform 
me  that  I  owed  him  a  piastre  for  the  service  he  had  ren- 
dered me.  I  I)cgged  his  pardon  fortroui)Iing  him  to  remind 
me,  saying  that  I  was  a  stranger.  He  pohtely  answered 
that  one  must  always  learn  a  first  time,  adding  that  a 
piastre  would  not  make  me  poor  nor  him  rich.  I  reserved 
my  opinion  on  the  hitter  point  when  I  saw  how  many  of 
them  he  took  in.  At  the  foot  of  the  catafalque  a  Turkish 
boy  was  selling  tapers.  I  bought  one,  as  it  were  an 
Athenian  sacrificing  to  the  unknown  god,  lighted  it,  and 
stuck  it  into  the  basin  of  sand  set  for  the  purpose.  That 
done,  I  considered  myself  free  to  admire  the  more  profane 
part  of  the  pana'ir  —  as  the  Turks  say. 

Part  of  it  covered  the  adjoining  slopes,  where  peace- 
ably inclined  spectators,  including  Turkish  women  not  a 
few,  might  also  contemplate  the  blossoming  peach-trees 
that  added  their  colour  to  the  occasion,  and  the  farther 
panorama  of  Bosphorus  and  Marmora.  But  the  crux  of 
the  proceedings  w^as  in  a  small  hollow  below^  the  tomb. 
I  must  confess  that  I  shrank  from  joining  the  press  of  the 
faithful  about  the  grotto  of  the  sacred  fount.  I  con- 
tented myself  with  hovering  on  their  outskirts.  A  black 
group  of  priestly  cylinders  marked  the  densest  part  of 


GREEK   FEASTS  341 

the  crowd,  and  near  them  a  sheaf  of  candles  burned 
strangely  in  the  clear  spring  sunlight.  A  big  refresh- 
ment tent  was  pitched  not  too  far  away  to  receive  the 
overflow  of  devotion,  reaching  out  canvas  arms  to  make 
further  space  for  tables  and  chairs.  The  faded  green 
common  to  Turkish  tents  was  hned  with  dark  red,  ap- 
pliqued  to  which  were  panels  of  white  flower-pots  and 
flowers.  I  wondered  if  the  tent-man  wittingly  repeated 
this  note  of  the  day.  For  flowers  were  everywhere  in 
evidence.  Lilacs,  tulips,  hyacinths,  jonquils,  violets,  and 
narcissi  were  on  sale  under  big  green  canvas  umbreflas  at 
the  edge  of  the  hollow,  while  every  other  pilgrim  who 
came  away  from  the  aya/.ma  carried  a  bottle  of  holy 
water  in  one  hand  and  a  spring  flower  in  the  other. 

■  Interesting  as  is  the  panayiri  of  the  forty  martyrs,  it 
does  not  rank  with  the  later  and  greater  spring  festival 
of  St.  George.  This  also  has  Turkish  afliliations  — ■  at 
least  in  Constantinople  and  Macedonia.  Both  races 
count  St.  George's  Day,  April  23d  May  6th,  the  oflicial 
beginning  of  summer  —  of  the  good  time,  as  modern 
Greek  pleasantly  puts  it.  The  Turks,  however,  dedicate 
the  day  to  Hid'r  Eless.  But  it  is  not  too  diflicult  to 
relate  this  somewhat  vague  personage  to  our  more  fa- 
miliar friend  EHjah,  who  in  his  character  of  St.  Elias 
shares  with  St.  George  the  mantle  of  Apoflo.  Nor  is  the 
heavenly  charioteer  the  only  one  of  the  Olympians  whose 
cult  survives  to-day  among  their  faithful  people.  The 
Hebrew  prophet  would  doubtless  have  been  much  aston- 
ished to  learn  that  he  was  to  be  the  heir  of  a  Greek  god. 
He  owes  it  partly  to  the  similarity  of  his  name  to  the 
Greek  word  for  sun  and  partly  to  the  chariot  of  fire  that 
carried  him  out  of  the  world.  As  for  "the  infamous 
George  of  Cappadocia,"  as  Gibbon  denominates  the 
patron  saint  of  our  ancestral  island,  his  part  in  the  heri- 


342       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

tage  of  Apollo  is  due  to  his  dragon,  cousin  german  to  the 
python  of  the  Far  Darter.  The  sanctuaries  of  these  two 
Christian  legatees  of  Olympus  have  replaced  those  of 
Apollo  on  all  hilltops,  while  their  name-days  are  those 
when  men  feasted  of  old  the  return  and  the  midsummer 
splendour  of  the  sun. 

The  place  among  places  to  celebrate  St.  George's 
Day  is  Prinkipo.  That  dehcious  island  deserves  a  book 
to  itself.  Indeed,  I  believe  several  have  been  written 
about  it.  One  of  them  is  by  a  pohtical  kmiinary  of  our 
own  firmament  who  flamed  for  a  moment  across  the 
Byzantine  horizon  and  whose  counterfeit  presentment, 
in  a  bronze  happily  less  enduring  than  might  be,  hails 
the  motor  men  of  Astor  Place,  New  York.  Sunset  Cox's 
work  bears  the  ingratiating  title  of  **The  Pleasures  of 
Prinkipo;  or,  The  Diversions  of  a  Diplomat"  — •  if  that 
be  the  order  of  the  alternatives.  The  pleasures  of  Prin- 
kipo are  many  as  its  red  and  white  sage  roses,  but  none 
of  them  is  more  characteristic  than  to  climb  the  Sacred 
Way  through  oHve  and  cypress  and  pine  to  the  little 
monastery  crowning  the  higher  hill  of  the  island,  and  to 
take  part  in  the  ceremonies  of  rejoicing  over  the  return 
of  the  sun.  This  is  a  panayiri  much  frequented  by  the 
people  of  the  Marmora,  who  come  in  their  fishing-boats 
from  distant  villages  of  the  Marble  Sea.  Their  costumes 
become  annually  more  corrupt,  I  am  pained  to  state; 
but  there  are  still  visible  among  them  ladies  in  print, 
sometimes  even  in  rich  velvet,  trousers  of  a  fulness,  wear- 
ing no  hat  but  a  painted  musHn  handkerchief  over  the 
hair,  and  adorned  with  dowries  in  the  form  of  strung  gold 
coins.  They  do  not  all  come  to  make  merry.  Among 
them  are  not  a  few  ill  or  deformed,'  who  hope  a  miracle 
from  good  St.  George.  You  may  see  them  lying  pale 
and  full  of  faith  on  the  strewn  bay  of  the  little  church. 


GREEK   FEASTS  343 

They  are  allowed  to  pass  the  night  there,  in  order  to 
absorb  the  virtue  of  the  holy  place.  I  have  even  known 
of  a  sick  child's  clothes  being  left  in  the  church  a  year  in 
hope  of  saving  its  hfe. 

But  these  are  only  incidents  in  the  general  tide  of 
merrymaking.     Eating  and  drinking,   music  and  dance, 
go   on   without   interruption   for   three   days   and   three 
nights.     The  music  is  made  in  many  ways,  of  which  the 
least  popular  is  certainly  not  the  way  of  the  lanterna. 
The  lanterna  is  a  kind  of  hand-organ,  a  hand-piano  rather, 
of  Itahan  origin  but  with  an  accent  and  an  interspersing 
of  bells  pecuhar  to  Constantinople.     It  should  attract  the 
eye  as  well  as  the  ear,  usually  by  means  of  the  portrait 
of  some  beauteous   being  set  about  with  a  garland  of 
artificial   flowers.     And  it  is  engineered   by  two  young 
gentlemen  in  fezzes  of  an  extremely  dark  red,  in  short 
black  jackets  or  in  bouffant  shirt-sleeves  of  some  magnifi- 
cent print,  with  a  waistcoat  more  double-breasted  than 
you  ever  saw  and  preferably  worn  unbuttoned;    also  in 
red  or  white  girdles,  in  trousers   that  flare  toward   the 
bottom  Hke  a  sailor's,  and  in  shoes  or  shppers  that  should 
have  no  counter.     Otherwise  the  rules  demand  that  the 
counter  be  turned   under  the  wearer's   heeL     Thus  ac- 
coutred he  bears  his  lanterna  on  his  back  from  patron  to 
patron  and  from  one  panayiri  to  another.    His  companion 
carries    a   camp-stool,    whereon   to    rest    his    instrument 
while  turning  the  handle  hour  in  and  hour  out.      I  hap- 
pen, myself,  to  be  not  a  little  subject  to  the  spell  of  music. 
I  have  trembled  before  Fitzner,  Kneisel,  and  Sevcik  quar- 
tettes  and   I   have  touched   infinity   under  the  subtlest 
bows  and  batons  of  my  time.     Yet  I  must  confess  that 
I  am  able  to  listen  to  a  lanterna  without  displeasure.     On 
one  occasion  I  listened  to  many  of  them,  accompanied 
by  pipes,   drums,   gramophones,   and  wandering  violins, 


344      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

for  the  whole  of  a  May  night  on  St.  George's  hilltop  in 
Prinkipo.     What  is  more,   I   understood  in  myself  how 
the   Dionysiac   frenzy   was   fed   by   the   cymbals   of  the 
maenads,   and   I   resented   all  the   inhibitions   of  a   New 
England  origin  that  kept  me  from  joining  the  dancers. 
Some  of  them  were  the  Laz  porters  of  the  island,  whose 
exhaustmg   measure  was   more   appropriate  to   such   an 
orgy  than  to  Easter  Monday.     Others  were  women,  for 
once;   but    they    kept    demurely    to    themselves,   appar- 
ently   untouched    by    any    corybantic    fury.     The   same 
could  not  be  said  of  their  men,  whose  dancing  was  not 
always  decent.     They  were  bareheaded,  or  wore  a  hand- 
kerchief twisted  about  their  hair  hke  a  fillet,  and  among 
them  were  faces  that  might  have  looked  out  of  an  Attic 
frieze.     It  gave  one  the  strangest  sense  of  the  continuity 
of  things.     In  the  lower  darkness  a  few  faint  lights  were 
scattered.     One  wondered  how,  to  them,  must  seem  the 
glare  and   clangour  of  this   island   hilltop,  ordinarily   so 
silent  and  deserted.     The  music  went  up  to  the  quiet 
stars,  the  revellers  danced  unwearying,  a  half-eaten  moon 
slowly  lighted  the  dark  sea,  a  spring  air  moved  among 
the  pines,  and  then  a  greyness  came  into  the  east,  near 
the  Bithynian  Olympus,  and  at  last  the  god  of  hilltops 
rode  into  a  cloud-barred  sky. 

The  second  feast  of  Apollo  takes  place  at  midsummer, 
namely  on  St.  Elias's  Day  (July  20/August  2).  Arna- 
out-kyoi  is  where  it  may  be  most  profitably  admired. 
Arnaout-kyoi  —  Albanian  Village  —  is  the  Turkish  name 
of  a  thriving  suburb  which  the  Greeks  call  Great  Current, 
from  the  race  of  the  Bosphorus  past  its  long  point.  It 
perhaps  requires  a  fanatical  eye  to  discover  anything 
ApoIIonic  in  that  lively  settlement.  No  one  will  gainsay, 
however,  that  the  joy  of  life  is  visible  and  audible  enough 
in  Arnaout-kyoi  during  the  first  three  days  of  August. 


GREEK   FEASTS  345 

There  also  is  a  sacred  way,  leading  out  of  an  odoriferous 
ravine  to  a  high  place  and  a  grove,  whither  all  men  gather 
in  the  heat  of  the  day  to  partake  of  the  water  of  a  holy 
well.  But  w^aters  less  sanctified  begin  to  flow  more  freely 
as  night  draws  on,  along  the  cool  quay  and  in  the  purlieus 
thereof.  Fringes  of  coloured  paper  are  strung  from 
house  to  house,  flags  hang  out  of  windows  or  across  the 
street,  wine-shops  are  splendid  with  banners,  rugs,  and 
garlands  of  bay,  anci  you  may  be  sure  that  the  sound  of 
the  lanterna  is  not  unheard  in  the  land.  The  perfection 
of  festivity  is  to  attach  one  of  these  inspiriting  instru- 
ments to  your  person  for  the  night.  The  thing  may  be 
done  for  a  dollar  or  two.  You  then  take  a  table  at  a 
cafe  and  order  with  your  refreshments  a  candle,  which 
yojLi  light  and  cause  to  stand  with  a  little  of  its  own 
grease.  In  the  meantime  perhaps  you  buy  as  many 
numbers  as  your  means  will  allow  out  of  a  bag  offered 
you  by  a  young  gentleman  with  a  watermelon  under  his 
arm,  hoping  to  find  among  them  the  mystic  number  that 
will  make  the  melon  your  own.  But  you  never  do. 
When  your  candle  has  burned  out  —  or  even  before,  if 
you  be  so  prodigal  —  you  move  on  with  your  lanterna  to 
another  cafe.  And  so  wears  the  short  summer  night  away. 
To  the  sorrow  of  those  who  employ  Greek  labour, 
but  to  the  joy  of  him  who  dabbles  in  Greek  folk-lore, 
panayiria  increase  in  frequency  as  summer  draws  to  a 
close.  The  picturesque  village  of  KandilH,  opposite  Ar- 
naout-kyoi  —  and  any  church  dedicated  to  the  Metamor- 
phosis —  is  the  scene  of  an  interesting  one  on  Trans- 
figuration Day  (August  6  19).  No  good  Greek  eats 
grapes  till  after  the  Transfiguration.  At  the  mass  of 
that  morning  baskets  of  grapes  are  blessed  by  the  priests 
and  afterward  passed  around  the  church.  I  know  not 
whether  some  remnant  of  a  bacchic  rite  be  in  this  solem- 


346      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

nity.  It  so  happens  that  the  delicious  chaoush  grapes  of 
Constantinople,  which  have  spoiled  me  for  all  others 
that  I  know,  ripen  about  that  time.  But  as  the  blessing 
of  the  waters  drives  away  the  kallikdntzari,  so  the  blessing 
of  the  grapes  puts  an  end  to  the  evil  influence  of  the 
thrimes.  The  thrimes  are  probably  descended  from  the 
dryads  of  old.  Only  they  now  haunt  the  water,  instead 
of  the  trees,  and  their  influence  is  baleful  during  the 
first  days  of  August.  Clothes  washed  then  are  sure  to 
rot,  while  the  fate  of  him  so  bold  as  to  bathe  during  those 
days  is  to  break  out  into  sores. 

The  next  great  feast  is  that  of  the  Assumption,  which 
is  preceded  by  a  fortnight's  fast.  Those  who  would  see 
its  panegyric  celebrated  with  due  circumstance  should 
row  on  the  28th  of  August  to  Yeni-kyoi  and  admire  the 
plane-shaded  avenue  of  that  fashionable  village,  deco- 
rated in  honour  of  the  occasion  and  musical  with  mastic 
glasses  and  other  instruments  of  sound.  A  greater  pana- 
yiri,  however,  takes  place  a  month  later  in  the  pleasant 
meadows  of  Gyok  Sou,  known  to  Europe  as  the  Sweet 
Waters  of  Asia.  Two  feasts  indeed,  the  Nativity  of  the 
Virgin  and  the  Exaltation  of  the  Cross  (September  8/21 
and  14/27),  then  combine  to  make  a  week  of  rejoicing. 
There  is  nothing  to  be  seen  at  Gyok  Sou  that  may  not 
be  seen  at  other  fetes  of  the  same  kind.  I  do  recollect, 
though,  a  dance  of  Anatolian  peasants  in  a  ring,  who  held 
each  other  first  by  the  httle  finger,  then  by  the  hand, 
then  by  the  elbow,  and  lastly  by  the  shoulder.  And  the 
amphorae  of  the  local  pottery  works  in  which  people 
carry  away  their  holy  water  give  the  rites  of  the  dyazma 
a  classic  air.  But  this  pariayiri  has  an  ampler  setting 
than  the  others,  in  its  green  river  valley  dotted  with 
great  trees,  and  it  enjoys  an  added  importance  because 
it  is  to  all  practical  purposes  the  last  of  the  season.     No 


GREEK   FEASTS  347 

one  can  count  on  being  able  to  make  merry  out-of-doors 
on  St.  Demetrius's  Day  (October  26  November  8).     St. 
Demetrius  is  as  interesting  a  personality  as  St.  George. 
He   also   is   an   heir   of  divinity,  for   on  him,   curiously 
enough,  have  devolved  the  responsibihties  of  the  goddess 
Demeter.     He   is  the  patron  of  husbandmen,  who   dis- 
charge labourers   and   lease   fields   on   his   day.     Among 
working  people  his  is  a  favourite  season  for  matrimony. 
I  know  not  how  if  is  that  some  sailors  will  not  go  to  sea 
after  Ai  Thimitri,  until  the  waters  have  been  blessed  at 
Epiphany.      Perhaps  it  is  that  he  marks  for  Greeks  and 
Turks  alike  the  beginning  of  winter,  being  kno\yn  to  the 
latter  as  Kassim.     This  division  of  the  seasons  is  clearly 
connected  with  the  Pelasgian  myth  of  Demeter. 
'     The  feast  of  her  successor  I  have  never  found  par- 
ticularly interesting,  though  I   must  say  I  have  seen  it 
only  at  Kourou  Cheshmeh.     Kourou  Cheshmeh,  or  Dry 
Fountain,  as  the  Turks  call  it,  is  where  Medea,  during 
her  somewhat  stormy  honeymoon  in  the  Argo,  planted 
a  laurel,  and  where  a  very  different  notability  of  a  later 
day,  St.  Daniel  the  Stylite,  stood  for  many  years  on  a 
pillar.     No  sign  of  laurel  or  pillar  are  there  to-day,  or 
of  the  famous  Byzantine  church  of  the  Archangel  Michael, 
which  existed  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  and  which  Sultan 
Mehmed  H  pulled  down  to  build  into  Cut-Throat  Castle. 
But  there  is  a  remnant  of  antiquity  in  Kourou  Cheshmeh 
which  goes  very  well  with  feasts  of  Demeter.     This  is  an 
old  altar,  half  buried  in  the  earth  near  the  mosque  of  the 
village,  festooned  about  with  garlands  between  battered 
rams'  heads  —  a  curiously  vivid  symbol  of  the  contrasts 
and  survivals  that  are  so  much  of  the  interest  of  Con- 
stantinople. 

I  never  saw  any  one  lay  a  sacrifice  to  the  Goddess  of 
Plenty  on  that  ancient  marble.     A  real  rite  of  sacrifice 


348       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND    NEW 

may  be  seen,  however,  at  the  last  panayiri  of  the  year,  in 
the  village  of  San  Stcfano.  The  panayiri,  as  you  might 
suppose,  is  that  of  St.  Stephen.  In  the  Greek  calendar 
St.  Stephen's  Day  falls  on  the  27th  of  December  (Jan- 


The  mosque  and  the  Greek  altar  of  Kourou  Cheshmeh 


uary  9th),  instead  of  the  26th.  The  most  characteristic 
part  of  the  payiayiri  is  a  church  procession  which  takes 
place  on  the  afternoon  before  the  feast,  when  priests  and 
choir-boys  march  through  the  village  with  banners  and 
incense  and  a  small  flock  of  sheep.  The  sheep  are  gaily 
decorated,  like  those  of  Kourban  Ba'iram,  and  they  come 


GREEK   FEASTS  349 

I 
to  the  same  end.    In  fact,  the  Greeks  apply  to  their  own 
sacrifice  the  Turkish  name  of  kourban.     The  main  differ- 
erence  is  that  each  animal  represents  some  special  votive 
offering.     And   the   offering   may   take   different   forms, 
according  to  the  means  of  the  giver.     One  rainy  winter 
afternoon  I  was  watching  the  sheep,  daubed  with  paint 
and  decorated  with  ribbons  and  artificial  llowers,  gather 
in  the  yard  of  the  church,  when  an  old  crone  came  into 
the  porch.     She  had  pulled  two  or  three  of  her  many 
skirts  over  her  head  to  protect  herself  from  the  rain,  and 
when  she  dropped  them  into  place  there  appeared  in  her 
arms  a  big  rooster.     "My  kourban,''   she  said,  showing 
him  to  a  neighbour  who  greeted  her,  and  she  made  no 
bones  about  taking  him  with  her  into  the  church.     Hold- 
ing him  tightly  under  one  arm  she  proceeded  to  buy,  at 
the  stall  inside  the  door,  three  big  candles,  one  of  which 
she  lighted  at  the  shrine  of  St.  Stephen,  another  at  that 
of  the  Virgin,  and  a  third  in  front  of  an  icon  which  I  did 
not  recognise.     That  done,  she  made  the  round  of  all  the 
icons  in  the  church,   twice  over,   kissing  each  one  and 
piously  crossing  herself  before  it.     Then  she  sat  down  in 
a  stall  at  the  back  of  the  church,  her  rooster  blinking 
around  as  if  determined  to  pass  his  last  hour  with  credit. 
The  old  woman  encouraged  him  with  pats  and  with  re- 
marks which  I  was  sorry  not  to  catch.     In  the  meantime 
candles  multiplied  before  the  icons,  a  sharp  sweet  odour 
added  itself  to  that  of  the  strewn  bay  on  the  floor,  a  brisk 
business  was   done  by   a   choir-boy   who   sold,  wrapped 
up  in  gay  tissue-paper,  dried  leaves  supposed  to  be  of  the 
plant  which  sprang  from  St.  Stephen's  crown  of  martyr- 
dom, and  a  big  frosted  cake  was  brought  in  with  cere- 
mony and  put  between  tw^o  candles  on  a  table  opposite 
the  bishop's  throne.     At  last  the  Bishop  himself  arrived, 
rather  wet  and  out  of  breath,  and  was  inducted  into  his 


350      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

vestments  beside  the  stove  at  the  baek  of  the  ehurch, 
not  far  from  where  the  old  woman  was  sitting  with  her 
cock.  At  that  point  the  hitter,  unable  to  contain  his 
emotions  any  longer,  suddenly  filled  the  holy  place  with 
a  loud  and  pagan  crow. 

These  panuyiria  are  only  a  few  of  an  inexhaustible 
list,  for  every  church  and  spring  has  its  own.  I  have  not 
even  mentioned  certain  famous  ones  that  are  not  easily 
visited.  Of  this  category,  though  less  famous  than  the 
fairs  of  Darija,  Pyrgos,  or  Sihvri,  is  the  feast  of  the 
Paiiayia  Mavromolitissa.  This  madonna  in  the  church  of 
Arnaout-kyoi  is  a  black  icon  reputed  to  have  been  found  in 
the  fields  at  the  mouth  of  the  Black  Sea.  Every  year  on 
the  5th  of  September  she  is  carried  back  in  a  cortege  of 
fishing-boats  —  weeping,  it  is  said  —  by  priests  and  well- 
wishers  who  hold  a  picnic  ])anayiri  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Cyanean  Rocks.  I  have  not  spoken,  either,  of  Ascension 
Day,  which  it  is  proper  to  celebrate  by  taking  your  first 
sea  bath.  Or  of  St.  John's  Day,  known  by  its  bonfires 
and  divinations.  The  Greeks  often  burn  in  the  fires  of 
St.  John  one  or  two  effigies  which  are  said  to  represent 
Judas,  though  Herod  and  Salome  should  rather  perish 
on  that  occasion.  Then  there  is  May  Day,  when  young 
men  and  maidens  get  up  early  in  the  morning,  as  they 
do  in  Italy,  and  go  out  into  the  fields  to  sing,  to  dance, 
to  drink  milk,  to  pick  flowers,  and  to  make  wreaths 
which  the  swain  hangs  up  on  the  door-post  of  the  lady  of 
his  heart.  And  equally  characteristic,  in  a  different  way, 
are  the  days  when  men  eat  and  drink  in  honour  of  their 
dead. 

No  one,  I  suppose,  tries  any  longer  to  prove  that 
the  modern  Greek  is  one  with  his  classic  ancestor.  Yet 
he  remains  curiously  faithful  to  the  customs  of  ancient 
Greece.     Whereby  he  affords  us  an  interesting  glimpse 


GREEK   FEASTS  351 

into  the  processes  of  evolution.  In  him  the  antique  and 
the  modern  world  come  together,  and  we  see  for  ourselves, 
more  clearly  than  on  the  alien  soil  of  the  West,  how 
strangely  habit  is  rooted  in  the  heart  of  man,  and  how 
the  forms  of  Christianity  are  those  of  the  paganism  that 
preceded  it. 


XII 

FOUNTAINS 

An  anonymous  American  traveller  who  visited  Turkey 
something  less  than  a  hundred  years  ago  wrote,  in  com- 
paring the  water  facilities  of  New  York  and  Constanti- 
nople, that  "the  emporium  of  the  United  States  is  some 
centuries  behind  the  metropohs  of  Turkey."  I  doubt 
whether  the  comparison  would  still  hold,  since  the  build- 
ing of  Croton  and  other  dams.  Nevertheless,  the  fact 
remains  that  water  —  fresh  water,  at  all  events  —  is  an 
element  less  native  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  than  to  the  Turk. 
We  have  our  proverb  about  cleanhness  and  godliness, 
and  we  have  our  morning  tubs,  and  we  have  our  unri- 
valled systems  of  pkimbing;  but  we  also  have  our  Great 
Unwashed.  In  Turkey,  however,  there  is  no  Great  Un- 
washed —  save  among  those  who  are  not  Turks.  The 
reason  is  that  for  a  follower  of  the  Prophet  godhness  is 
next  to  cleanliness.  His  rehgion  obliges  him  to  wash  his 
face,  hands,  and  feet  before  each  of  his  five  daily  prayers, 
while  innumerable  public  baths  exist  for  the  completer 
ablutions  required  of  him.  Add  to  that  the  temperance 
enjoined  upon  him,  whence  is  derived  his  appreciation  of 
good  drinking  water,  and  you  will  begin  to  understand 
why  there  are  so  many  fountains  in  StambouL 

The  fountains  of  Constantinople  are  very  little  like 
those  of  Rome  and  Paris.  There  are  no  figures  about 
them,  and  not  many  of  them  spout  or  splash.  In  fact,  I 
recently  saw  the  most  famous  of  them  referred  to  in  an 

352 


FOUNTAINS  353 

architectural  handbook  as  a  kiosk,  so  little  resemblance 
does  it  bear  to  the  customary  fountain.  Fountains  are, 
none  the  less,  one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of  Constantino- 
ple. If  they  are  intended  more  strictly  for  use  than  West- 
ern fountains,  they  also  take  the  place  —  and  often  most 
happily  —  of  commemorative  sculpture  in  Western  coun- 
tries. And  so  faithfully  have  they  followed  all  the  vicis- 
situdes of  the  art  of  building  in  Turkey,  have  they  re- 
flected changes  of  taste  and  successive  foreign  influences, 
that  a  study  of  them  would  yield  valuable  material 
toward  a  history  of  Ottoman  architecture. 

I  do  not  propose  to  make  any  such  study  of  them 
now.  The  variety  of  these  small  monuments  is  so  great, 
however,  that  I  must  be  academic  enough  to  divide  them 
into  four  or  five  categories.  Of  which  the  first  would 
include  the  private  fountains  alluded  to  in  earlier  chap- 
ters. Numerous  and  interesting  as  private  fountains  are, 
a  foreigner  naturally  has  Httle  opportunity  to  become 
acquainted  with  them.  Their  commonest  form  is  that 
seen  in  all  Turkish  houses  —  of  a  niche  in  the  wall  con- 
taining a  tap  set  over  a  marble  basin.  This  arrange- 
ment, of  course,  amounts  to  nothing  more  or  less  than  a 
wash-stand.  But  mark  that  the  hole  in  the  bottom  of 
the  basin  contains  no  stopper.  A  Mohammedan  would 
consider  that  we  wash  our  hands  in  dirty  water,  prefer- 
ring, himself,  to  use  only  the  stream  running  from  the 
faucet.  Turkish  houses  —  real  Turkish  houses  —  are 
like  Japanese  ones  in  that  they  contain  very  httle  furni- 
ture or  bric-a-brac.  The  old  architects,  therefore,  made 
the  most  of  the  opportunity  afforded  by  the  ritual  use 
of  water,  and  found  nothing  incongruous  in  treating  a 
sanitary  fixture  architecturally,  or  even  in  makmg  it 
an  important  feature  of  decoration.  This  they  oftenest 
accompHshed  by  setting  the  tap  in  the  lower  part  of  a 


354       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 


tall  marble  tablet,  called  the  a'ina  tashi,  or  mirror  stone, 
which  they  shaped  to  suit  the  niche  in  which  it  stood 
and  ornamented  more  or  less  elaborately  with  carving 
and  sometimes  w^ith  painting  too. 

Not  many  early  examples  can  remain,  on  account  of 
the  unfortunate  propensity  of  Turkish   houses  to  burn 

up.     A  number,  however,  are  to  be 
seen  in  the  old  palace  of  Top  Kapou. 
Perfectly   simple    but  characteristic 
and  charming  of  their  kind  are  the 
tiny  wall  fountains  of  a  room  in  the 
"Cage,"  at  each  end  of  the  window- 
seat   in    front   of  each    of  the   four 
windows.   The  same  principle  is  used 
for    more   ornamental   purposes    by 
putting  one  basin  below  another  in 
such    a    way    that    the    second    w^II 
catch    the    overflow    of    the    first. 
There  is  a  big  wall  fountain  of  this 
sort  in  the  splendid  hall  of  Suleiman 
the  ALagnificent.     In  a  private  house 
of  much  later  date  I  have  seen  three 
graduated    basins    projecting    from 
their   niche,  rounded   and  scalloped 
like  shells.     There  is   also  a   pretty 
selsebil  of  a  new  kind  in  one  of  the 
baths  of  the  Seraglio,  where  the  sur- 
face of  the  mirror  stone  is  notched  into  a  series  of  over- 
lapping scales  so  as  to  multiply  the  ripple  of  the  water. 
But  the  prettiest  dripping  fountain  I  know  is  in  an  old 
house  in  Bebek,  on  the  European  shore  of  the  Bosphorus. 
It   stands   in   the  entrance  hall,  at  an  odd  little  angle 
where  it  will  best  catch  the  light,  and  it  combines  the 
miniature   basins   of  an   ordinary   selsebil  with   a  lower 


Photograph  by  Abdullah  Freres 

Wall  fountain  in  the 
Seraglio 


FOUNTAINS 


355 


surface  of  marble  scales.  What  is  least  ordinary  about 
it,  however,  are  the  spaces  of  marble  lace  work  bordermg 
the  shallow  arched  niche  where  the  water  trickles.  There 
is  a  free  space  behind  them  in  order  to  give  the  proper 


Selsehil  in  Bebek 

relief  to  the  design.  And  there  is  an  irregularity  about 
the  intertwined  whorls  which  a  Western  artist  would 
have  thought  beneath  him,  but  which  only  adds  mterest 

to  the  work. 

This  original  selsehil  partakes  also  of  the  nature  ot  a 
jiskieh,  as  the  Turks  onomatopoetically  call  a  spurtmg 
fountain.     In  the  stalactites   bordering  the  two  shallow 


356      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 


basins  at  the  bottom  arc  jets  which  used  to  add  to  the 
complicated  tinkle  of  the  fountain.  Spurting  fountains 
seem  to  be  rarer  indoors  than  out,  though  I  have  already 
mentioned    the    beautiful    one    in    the    KyopriiUi    kiosk. 

They  are  not  un- 
common in  the  outer 
hall  of  pubHc  baths. 
One  that  contra- 
venes the  canons  of 
orthodox  Moham- 
medan art  is  to  be 
admired  in  the 
handsome  bath  of 
St.  Sophia — a  work 
of  S i n a n  —  where 
three  dolphins, 
their  tails  in  the  air, 
spout  water  into  a 
fluted  basin.  I  have 
wondered  if  these 
unorthodox  crea- 
tures, hkc  the  lions 
of  so  many  gar- 
dens, may  not  per- 
petuate a  Byzan- 
tine tradition  if  not 
actual  Byzantine 
workmanship.  I  have  already  referred  to  the  pigeons  on 
a  selsebil  in  Candilh.  I  have  not  yet  referred  to,  though 
I  have  been  considerably  intrigued  by,  a  fat  goose  that  is 
the  pride  of  a  street  fountain  outside  the  Golden  Gate. 
But  on  another  fountain  in  Stamboul  there  is  to  be  seen 
another  unorthodox  creature,  that  is  of  unimpeachable 
Mohammedan  descent.     The  fountain  is  of  the  bubbling 


The  goose  fountain  at  Kazli 


FOUNTAINS 


357 


kind  which  sometimes  very  pleasantly  adorns  the  centre 
of  a  room.  In  this  case  it  was  put  into  a  niche  in  the 
Tile  Pavihon  which  the  Conqueror  built  in  the  Seragho 
grounds.  The  fountain,  however,  would  seem  to  date 
from  Sultan  Mou- 
rad  III,  who  re- 
stored the  kiosk  in 
1590.  On  either 
side  of  the  deep  - 
rectangular  recess 
arc  poetical  inscrip- 
tions of  tliat  Sultan, 
gold  on  green,  with 
a  quaint  little  chmb- 
ing.  border  picked 
out  of  the  marble 
in  gold,  and  a  sur- 
mount i  n  g  shell. 
That  shell,  dear  to 
the  Renaissance 
designers  and  how 
many  before  them, 
is  supposed  to  have 
made  its  entrance 
into  Mohammedan 
architecture  from 

this  very  inche.  At  the  back  of  the  niche  is  another  shell, 
and  under  it  the  unorthodox  creature,  a  peacock,  spreads 
his  fan.  It  was  perhaps  to  diminish  the  importance  of 
this  unorthodox,  of  this  probably  heretical  Shiite  peacock, 
that  the  artist  coloured  him  more  soberly  than  the  flowers 
that  bloom  on  either  side  of  him,  and  made  him  combine 
with  the  shell  to  form  the  outhne  of  a  symbolic  egg. 
A  few  interestino;  interior  fountains  are  to  be  seen  in 


The  wall  fountain  of  Chinlli-Kvoshk 


3i8      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

mosques,  though  Constantinople  cannot  equal  Broussa 
in  this  respect.  St.  Sophia  contains  two  such  fountains, 
put  there  by  Sultan  Mourad  III,  which  are  big  alabaster 
jars  fitted  with  taps.  Two  more  typical  ones  are  in 
Sultan  Ahmed,  their  graceful  mirror  stones  set  against 
two  of  the  enormous  piers  that  hold  up  the  dome.  The 
real  mosque  fountains,  however,  are  those  which  exist 
for  purposes  of  ritual  ablution  outside  of  the  smallest 
mesjid.  There  you  will  always  see  a  row  of  small  taps, 
set  near  the  ground  against  the  wall  of  the  mosque  or 
its  yard,  with  stepping-stones  in  front  of  them.  They 
are  rarely  treated  with  much  elaboration  except  in  later 
mosques  like  Nouri  Osmanieh,  but  they  agreeably  break 
up  a  flat  wall  surface.  And  at  Eyoub  they  really  form 
one  element  of  the  picturesqueness  of  the  outer  court, 
with  the  bracketed  roof  that  protects  them  from  the 
weather  and  their  clambering  vine. 

Most  mosques,  as  wefl  as  medressehs  and  other  pious 
institutions,  also  have  a  larger  and  more  decorative  foun- 
tain which  usually  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  court. 
The  technical  name  of  such  a  fountain  is  shadrivan^ 
or  shadiravaUy  really  meaning  "for  the  peace  of  souls." 
The  fountain,  that  is,  not  only  aids  the  faithful  in  their 
religious  exercises,'  but  adds  so  much  to  the  celestial 
credit  of  the  builder  or  of  the  person  whom  he  commem- 
orates. For  many  shadrivans  were  built,  after  the  mosque 
to  which  they  are  attached,  by  another  person.  Those 
in  the  courts  of  Bai'ezid  and  Selim,  for  instance,  are  the 
work  of  Mourad  IV,  whose  soul  needed  what  peace  it 
could  find,  while  so  late  a  sultan  as  Mahmoud  I  built 
the  fanciful  shadrivan  in  the  somewhat  stern  court  of 
the  Conqueror  as  well  as  that  in  the  court  of  St.  Sophia. 
The  last  two  are  charming  examples  of  the  Turkish 
rococo.     The  commonest  form  of  shadrivan  is  a  basin  or 


FOUNTAINS 


359 


reservoir,  encircled  about  the  bottom  by  taps  and  pro- 
tected by  a  roof  from  sun  and  rain.  The  simplest  type 
is  to  be  seen  in  the  medresseh  yard  of  Kyoprulu  Hussein 
Pasha,  with  a  perfectly  plain  reservoir  and  a  pointed 
roof  held  up  by  wooden  pillars.  A  similar  one  which 
hes  more  on  the  track  of  sightseers  is  in  front  of  the 


tyjH^^-^  ^^ "  TP 


i 


'fS  1.'.  '■■ 


% 


.Shadrivan  of  Kyoprulu  Hussein  Pasha 


mosque  known  as  Little  St.  Sophia,  anciently  the  church 
of  Sts.  Sergius  and  Bacchus.  Here  the  reservoir  is  an 
octagon  terminating  in  a  cone,  while  the  roof  is  tiled  and 
ornamented  at  the  apex  with  a  bronze  alem  —  a  lyre  or 
crescent  containing  a  cobweb  of  Arabic  letters.  There 
are  also  seats  between  the  posts  for  the  greater  conve- 
nience of  those  who  use  the  fountain.  Some  shadrivans 
are  partially  enclosed  and  made  into  pavilions,  where  it 
is  very  pleasant  to  rest.     An  excellent  example  exists  in 


36o      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

the  yard  of  the  mosque  of  Ramazan  Effendi,  in  Issa  Kapou. 
The  perforated  marble  enclosing  the  upper  part  of  the 
reservoir  of  this  shadrivan  is  a  thing  that  is  seen  in  many 
such  fountains.  Sometimes  a  handsome  grille  work  pro- 
tects the  water,  as  at  St.  Sophia  and  SokoIIi  Mehmed 
Pasha.     The  latter  fountain  is   uncommon   in  that  the 


Shadrivan  of  Ramazan  Efifendi 


large  round  reservoir  is  the  whole  shadrivan,  with  project- 
ing eaves  to  shelter  the  people  at  the  taps.  But  not  all 
shadrivans  are  for  purposes  of  ablution.  At  the  Sulei- 
manieh  and  at  Yeni  Jami  they  are  merely  covered  tanks 
without  taps.  The  shadrivan  of  the  Valideh  Jedid  in 
Scutari  is  of  the  same  kind,  except  that  the  water  falls 
mvisibly  from  the  roof  of  the  tank,  filling  the  court  with 
a  mysterious  sense  of  sound  and  coolness. 


FOUNTAINS 


361 


I  do  not  suppose  that  street  fountains  are  actually 
more  numerous  than  private  ones,  but  they  naturally 
seem  so  to  a  foreigner  wandering  through  Stamboul.  It 
is  not  easy  to  classify  them  clearly,  so  many  are  the  forms 
they  take.  They  affect,  however,  two  principal  types, 
known  in  Turkish  as  cheshmeh  and  sebil,  either  of  which 


Shadrivan  of  SokoUi  ]SIehmed  Pasha 


may  be  attached  to  a  wall  or  may  exist  as  an  independent 
structure.  The  original  form  is  the  apphed  cheshmeh, 
which  is  merely  a  wall  fountain  put  outside  the  house,  and 
enlarged  in  scale  accordingly.  These  fountains  are  a  very 
characteristic  feature  of  Constantinople  streets.  There 
are  literally  thousands  of  them,  and  they  offer  so  great  a 
variety  of  interest  that  it  is  a  wonder  no  one  has  taken 
the  trouble  to  give  them  the  study  they  deserve.     They 


362       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

are  a  wide-spread  example,  for  one  thing,  of  Turkish 
philanthropy  —  and  incidentally  of  a  passing  concep- 
tion of  public  utilities.  Every  one  of  those  fountains 
was  originally  a  public  benefaction,  often  made  by  a 
Sultan,  it  is  true,  and  on  an  imperial  scale,  but  oftener 
by  a  private  citizen  who  wished  to  commemorate  some 
member  of  his  famil}^  to  ornament  the  street  in  which 
he  lived,  or  to  confer  a  benefit  upon  his  neighbours.  He 
therefore  endowed  his  fountain,  in  many  instances. 
Such  endowments  form  an  appreciable  fraction  of  the 
property  administered  by  the  Department  of  Pious 
Foundations.  Sometimes  the  benefactor  stipulated  that 
water-carriers  or  other  persons  were  or  were  not  to  have 
the  right  of  selling  the  water  of  his  fountain.  The  water- 
carrier,  the  saka,  belongs  to  a  race  by  no  means  yet  ex- 
tinct in  Constantinople,  though  I  doubt  if  his  guilds  are 
quite  what  they  were.  There  used  to  be  two  such  guilds, 
of  the  horse  sakas  and  of  the  hand  sakas.  The  patron  of 
both  was  the  hero  who  attempted  to  carry  water  to 
Hussein  in  the  battle  of  Kerbela.  The  members  of  both 
may  be  recognised  by  the  dripping  goatskins  in  which 
they  carry  water  from  house  to  house.  In  these  degen- 
erate days,  however,  a  hand  saka  is  more  likely  to  carry 
a  couple  of  kerosene  tins  slung  over  his  shoulder  from 
either  end  of  a  pole.  But  if  he  has  the  right  to  be  paid 
for  carrying  water,  every  man  has  the  right  to  go  himself 
to  the  fountain  and  draw  water  without  money  and  with- 
out price. 

Until  a  few  years  ago  Constantinople  possessed  no 
other  water-system.  Now  modern  water  companies  op- 
erate in  their  more  invisible  ways.  But  the  Ministry  of 
Pious  Foundations  is  still  the  greatest  water  company  of 
them  all.  That  it  was  a  fairly  adequate  one  our  Ameri- 
can traveller  of  a  hundred  years  ago  is  witness.     Only 


FOUNTAINS  363 

recently,  however,  has  the  department  attempted  to 
make  some  sort  of  order  out  of  the  chaos  of  systems 
which  it  administers  —  some  larger,  like  the  water-sup- 
plies of  the  Sultans,  some  limited  to  the  capacity  of  one 
small  spring,  and  all  based  on  the  idea  of  a  charity  rather 
than  that  of  a  self-paying  utiHty.  Even  now  I  doubt  if 
any  exact  and  complete  map  exists  of  the  water-supply 
of  Constantinople.  The  knowledge  necessary  to  make 
such  a  map  is  distributed  between  an  infinity  of  indi- 
viduals known  as  souyoljis,  waterway  men,  who  alone 
can  tell,  often,  just  where  the  pipes  lie  and  how  they  are 
fed.  And  very  useful,  if  occasionally  very  trying,  gentle- 
men are  these  to  know.  This  is  sometimes  amusingly 
illustrated  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  where  a  house  or 
a^  group  of  houses  may  be  supplied  from  some  small  in- 
dependent source  of  water.  As  time  has  passed  and 
property  has  changed  hands,  the  tradition  of  the  water- 
way has  been  preserved  only  in  some  humble  family  that 
has  profited  by  its  knowledge,  perhaps,  to  cultivate  a 
tidy  vegetable  garden.  And  every  now  and  then  the 
water  runs  low  or  stops  altogether  in  the  quarter  for 
whose  benefit  it  was  originally  made  to  flow,  until  on 
payment  of  a  tip  to  the  souyolji  it  miraculously  begins  to 
flow  again. 

This  system  is  probably  the  one  the  Turks  found  in 
use  when  they  entered  the  city.  Water  stifl  runs  in  the 
aqueducts  of  Valens  and  Justinian,  and  until  the  present 
generation  Stamboul  had  no  other  water-supply  than  that 
first  coHected  by  Hadrian  and  Constantine.  The  Sul- 
tans restored  and  improved  it,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that 
the  conduits  of  many  a  Turkish  fountain  were  laid  by  a 
Roman  emperor.  Of  Byzantine  fountains  remaining  to 
this  day,  I  am  not  sure  that  any  can  positively  be  identi- 
fied as  such.     Many  of  the  fountains  of  Stamboul,  how- 


364       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

ever,    must   occupy   the   place   of   Byzantine    fountains, 
whose  materials  may  have  been  used  in  their  construc- 
tion.    And  it  would  not  have  been  strange  if  the  new 
masters   of  the  city   adapted   to   their  own   use    models 
which  they  saw  about  them.     The  great  quadruple  foun- 
tain of  Kirk  Cheshmeh  —  Forty  Fountains  —  is  a  case  in 
point.     The  Turks  connect  with  it  the  name  of  Sultan 
Suleiman  I,  who  is  said  to  have  left  forty  fountains  in  the 
city.     But  its  original  level  was  considerably  below  the 
existing  street,  and  one  of  the  four  niches  is  ornamented 
with  a  Byzantine  relief  of  peacocks,  while  other  Byzan- 
tine fragments  are  built  into  the  structure.     The  arches 
of  two  of  the  niches,  moreover,  are  round,  which  was  not 
characteristic  of  Suleiman's  period.     So  we  are  not  with- 
out   reasons   for   thinking  that   the   fountain   may   have 
been  a  Byzantine  one  restored  by  Siileiman  —  who  also 
restored  the  aqueduct  that  feeds  it.     The  same  is  likely 
of  others  of  his  forty  fountains.     No  others  of  them  bear 
Byzantine   sculptures.     In    fact,    the    only    other    street 
fountain  on  which   I   have  seen  any  such  decoration  — 
unless  the  goose  of  Kazli  be  Byzantine  —  is  that  of  the 
small  Koumrulu   Mesjid,   between   Fatih  and  the  Adri- 
anople  Gate.     But  the  large  Horhor  Cheshmeh  near  Ak 
Sera'i,   and  another  farther  up  the  hill  toward  the  old 
Forum  Amastrianon,  have  a  distinct  Byzantine  air.     At 
the  same  time,  their  general  form  is  that  of  the  Turkish 
wall    fountain  —  an    arched    niche,   containing   a   faucet 
above  a  stone  or  marble  trough. 

This  form,  in  its  simplest  state,  without  any  orna- 
ment or  even  a  "mirror  stone,"  is  found  in  what  may 
be  the  oldest  Turkish  fountain  in  Constantinople.  It 
lies  within  the  enclosure  of  the  castle  of  Roumeli  Hissar. 
The  niche  is  deeper  than  in  later  fountains,  and  the 
bricks   used   in   its   construction   are  the   large  flat  ones 


FOUNTAINS 


365 


which  the  Turks  borrowed  from  their  predecessors.  If 
truth  compels  me  further  to  record  that  the  arch  is 
not  the  pointed  one  preferred  by  the  Turks  until  the 
eighteenth  century,  I  am  able  to  add  that  neither  are 
the  arches  of  the  castle  itself. 


The  Byzantine  fountain  of  Kirk  Cheshmeh 

I  suppose  it  is  natural  that  few  fountains  of  that  earl}^ 
period  remain  to  us.  The  newcomers  probably  found 
the  city  well  enough  supplied  already,  and  five  hundred 
years  is  a  long  time  for  such  small  structures  to  last  in 
the  open.  The  oldest  inscribed  wall  fountain  I  know  is 
that  of  Daoud  Pasha,  outside  the  mosque  of  the  same 
personage,  who  was  Grand  Vizier  to  the  Conqueror's 
son  Baiezid  II  (A.  H.  890; A.  D.  1485).  There  is  little 
about  the  pointed  arch  or  fairly  deep  niche  to  attract 
attention,  save  the  bold  inscription  above  a  small  mirror 


366      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

stone  of  palpably  later  date:  "The  author  of  charity 
deceased,  the  Grand  Vizier  Daoud  Pasha."  This  is  the 
earliest  form  of  ornament  that  appears  on  Turkish  foun- 
tains —  though  I  fancy  the  broad  eaves  that  protect 
many  of  them  did  not  wait  long  to  be  invented.  I  have 
already  dwelt,  on  the  importance  of  writing  in  all  Turkish 
decoration.  I  therefore  need  not  add  that  the  simplest 
inscription  on  a  fountain  has  for  the  Turks  an  importance 
of  a  kind  we  do  not  appreciate.  Some  fountains  are 
famous  merely  for  the  lettering  on  them  —  as  in  its  day 
was  that  of  FeizouIIah  Effendi,  outside  his  medresseh, 
whose  inscription  was  designed  by  the  celebrated  calH- 
graph  Dourmoush-zadeh  Ahmed  EfTendi. 

It  must  not  be  inferred  that  the  matter  of  the  in- 
scription is  comparatively  of  less  importance  —  though 
here  again  the  Western  critic  is  not  c[uite  competent  to 
judge.  The  commonest  of  all  inscriptions  is  a  verse 
from  the  Koran :  "By  water  all  things  have  life."  Other 
verses,  mentioning  the  four  fountains  of  Paradise  and 
the  pool  Kevser  into  which  they  flow,  are  also  frequent, 
together  with  references  to  the  sacred  well  Zemzem, 
which  Gabriel  opened  for  Hagar  in  Mecca,  to  Hizir  and 
the  Spring  of  Life,  and  to  the  battle  of  Kerbela,  in  which 
Hussein  and  his  companions  were  cut  off"  from  water. 
Or  the  central  tenet  of  Islam,  "There  is  no  God  but  God 
and  Mohammed  is  the  Prophet  of  God,"  may  be  carved 
above  the  niche  —  sometimes  without  any  indication  of 
the  name  or  epoch  of  the  founder.  The  majority,  how- 
ever, are  not  so  modest.  They  are  more  likely  to  give 
ampler  information  than  he  who  runs  may  read.  And 
after  the  time  of  Siileiman  the  Magnificent  it  became  in- 
creasingly the  fashion  for  celebrated  poets  to  compose 
the  verses  which  celebrated  calligraphs  designed.  Thus 
the  historian  Chelibi-zadeh  records  the  end  of  the  in- 


FOUNTAINS  367 

scription  on  a  reservoir  of  Ahmed  III:  "SeicI  Vehbi 
Effcndi,  the  most  distinguished  among  the  word-wizards 
of  the  time,  strung  these  pearls  on  the  thread  of  his  verse 
and  joined  together  the  two  hnes  of  the  following  chron- 
ographic  distich,  like  two  sweet  almonds  breast  to  breast: 
'With  what  a  wall  has  Ahmed  dammed  the  waters! 
For  of  astonishment  stops  the  flood  in  the  midst  of  its 
course.'  " 

Chronograms  are  as  common  on  fountains  as  they 
are  on  other  monuments.  The  earliest  I  have  happened 
to  come  across  is  an  Arabic  one  on  a  fountain  near  the 
Studion,  which  points  the  reader's  attention  as  follows  — 
"The  date  fell:  We  gave  thee  the  fountain  of  Paradise." 
The  latter  phrase  is  from  the  Koran.  Its  numerical  value 
is  c)7o,  or  1563  of  our  era,  which  is  twenty  years  later 
than  the  chronogram  on  the  tomb  of  the  Prince.  The 
ideal  chronogram  should  contain  the  name  of  the  builder 
of  the  fountain  and  that  of  the  writer  of  the  verse  — 
though  I  must  confess  I  never  found  one  that  attained 
that  height  of  ingenuity.  Most  of  them  mention  the 
founder's  name  alone,  as  "Sultan  Mourad's  fountain  is  a 
gift"  (994/1586),  or  "O  God,  grant  Paradise  to  Moustafa 
Pasha!"  (1095/ 1684).  ^^^'^  ^^e  exigencies  of  arithmetic 
may  relegate  the  names  to  the  earher  part  of  the  inscrip- 
tion —  as  on  one  of  two  neighbouring  fountains  in  the 
quarter  of  Ak  Biyik  {anglice,  White  Whisker):  "When 
the  mother  of  Ali  Pasha,  Vizier  in  the  reign  of  Sultan 
Mahmoud,  quenched  the  thirst  of  the  people  with  the 
clear  and  pure  water  of  her  charity,  Riza  of  Beshiktash, 
the  NakshihendV  —  an  order  of  dervishes  —  "uttered 
the  following  epigraph:  Come  and  drink  water  of  eternal 
life  from  this  joyful  fountain."  The  value  of  the  last 
phrase  is  1 148,  or  i~35.  Even  in  so  general  a  sentiment, 
however,  it  is  not  always  easy  to  get  the  required  figure. 


368      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

Various  ingenious  devices  arc  resorted  to,  of  which  a 
handsome  Renaissance  fountain  in  Kassim  Pasha  is  an 
excellent  example:  "The  famous  Vizier,  the  victorious 
warrior  Hassan  Pasha,  made  this  fountain  as  a  trophy 
for  Mohammedans.     His  aims  were  always  philantliropic 


Thd"  two  fountains  of  Ak  Biyik 


and  he  provided  this  fountain  with  water  like  Zemzem. 
This  fountain  is  so  well  situated  and  built  in  so  pleasant 
a  place  that  one  would  take  it  as  the  site  where  flows  the 
water  of  eternal  life.  Those  who  look  upon  it  drive  away 
all  sorrow  from  their  hearts."  The  numerical  value  of 
the  last  sentence  is  2080,  a  date  even  farther  from  the 
Mohammedan  calendar  than  from  burs.  But  the  value 
of  the  single  word  "sorrow"  is  1040.  Drive  it  away,  or 
in  other  words  subtract  1040  from  2080,  and  you  get  1040 


FOUNTAINS  369 

again,  which  is  evidently  the  date  of  the  construction 
(1631).  The  light  vakies  of  this  inscription  are  as  enig- 
matic as  its  numerical  values,  so  that  I  have  never  been 
able  to  photograph  it  properly.  It  also  states  that  the 
water  rights  are  free,  meaning  that  no  one  saka  may  sell 
the  water.  The  builder  of  this  interesting  fountain  was 
in  his  day  a  saddler,  a  cook,  and  a  sergeant,  which  did 
not  prevent  him  from  eventually  becoming  high  admual 
of  the  fleet,  infUcting  a  memorable  defeat  upon  the  Rus- 
sians in  the  Black  Sea,  and  marrying  the  sister  of  Sultan 
Mourad  IV. 

The  taste  for  chronograms  has  continued  to  this  day, 
but  in  time  the  arithmetic  of  the  reader  was  helped  out 
by   an   incidental   date.     The   earliest   numerals    I    have 
found  are  of  the  time  of  Suleiman  the  Magnificent,  on 
a   fountain  built  by  a  Jew  in   the  suburb  of  Hass-kyoi 
(931/1525).     The  same  fountain  is  also  decorated  with 
the  earliest  reliefs  I  have  noted,  consisting  merely  of  a 
little  tracery  on  the  mirror  stone.     Altogether  this  period 
was  an   important   one   for   fountains   as   it   was   for  all 
Turkish  architecture.     But  while  a  few  of  them  are  ad- 
mirably proportioned,   like   the  little  fountain   in  Avret 
Bazaar  at  the  gate  of  the  soup-kitchen  of  the  Hasseki  — 
she  was  Hourrem,  the  Joyous  One,  who  bore  to  Suleiman 
his   ill-fated  son   Moustafa  —  many   of  them  are  disap- 
pointingly heavy.     It  may  be  that  the  great  Sinan  did 
not  consider  such   small  monuments  worth  his  while,  or 
that  they  have  suffered  by   restoration.     At  all  events, 
the   lesser  sultans  who  followed  Suleiman  left  fountains 
generally  more  graceful.     Ahmed  I  is  said  to  have  built 
not  less  than  a  hundred  of  them.     In  the  meantime  they 
gradually  developed   in  detail.     The  tracery,   less  fioral 
than  geometrical,  covered  more  and  more  of  the  marble. 
Conventionalised  cypresses,  with  tops  mysteriously  bent. 


370       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND    NEW 

sprang  up  on  cither  side  of  the  taps.  Conventionalised 
roses,  often  having  a  mystic  symbolism,  became  a  fa- 
vourite ornament  for  the  apex  of  the  arch.  The  occult 
pentagram  or  hexagram,  symbohc  of  microcosm  and 
macrocosm  and  tahsmanic  against  e\  il,  were  sometimes 
carved  at  the  corners.  And  the  top,  when  it  was  not 
shaded  by  broad  eaves,  was  finished  in  various  decora- 
tive ways. 

The  golden  age  of  street  fountains  was  in  the  first 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  during  the  reigns  of  those 
notable  builders  Ahmed  III  and  his  nephew  Mahmoud  I. 
The  change  which  they  introduced  into  the  architecture 
of  their  country  was  in  many  ways  an  unhappy  one.  It 
led  the  Turks  out  of  their  own  order  of  tradition,  which  is 
rarely  a  safe  or  useful  thing  to  do,  into  strange  byways 
of  bad  taste  where  they  lost  themselves  for  two  hundred 
years.  Still,  an  architecture  that  tries  experiments  is  an 
architecture  that  fives,  and  at  its  beginning  the  Turk- 
ish rococo  has  an  inimitable  grace  and  spirit.  The  foun- 
tains of  the  period  are  decorated,  as  no  fountains  had 
been  decorated  before,  with  fioral  refiefs  a  fittle  fike 
those  of  the  Renaissance  tombs  and  with  fruits  and 
flowers  in  various  quaint  receptacles.  The  earfier  of  the 
garden  selsebils  I  have  already  mentioned  is  an  example, 
and  a  more  typical  one  is  the  wall  fountain  of  the  Vafi- 
deh  Jedid  in  Scutari.  The  sculptures  also  began  to  be 
touched  up  with  colour  and  gilding,  as  in  the  larger  of 
the  two  fountains  of  Ak  Biyik.  So  must  have  been  the 
charming  fountain,  now  most  lamentably  neglected,  on 
the  street  that  drops  from  Galata  Tower  to  Pershembeh 
Bazaar. 

Until  this  time  the  old  pointed  arch  had  been  pre- 
ferred, though,  as  we  have  seen,  the  rounded  shell  of  the 
Renaissance  had  already  made  its  appearance.     But  now 


FOUNTAINS 


371 


round  or  broken  arches  began  to  be  the  order  of  the  day; 
and  so  great  richness  of  detail  could  only  degenerate  into 
the  baroque.  Yet  I  have  bad  taste  enough  to  hkc,  some- 
times, even  the  out-and-out  baroque.     There  is  a  httle 


Street  fountain  at  Et  Yemez 

fountain,  for  instance,  in  the  Asiatic  suburb  of  Kanlija, 
with  a  florid  arch  and  rather  heavy  traceries  and  four  very 
Dutch-looking  tiles  set  into  the  wall  above  them,  which  I 
think  is  dehghtfuL  Long  after  photographing  it  I  came 
across  some  more  of  those  tiles  in  the  imperial  tribune  of 
the  mosque  built  in  Scutari  by  Moustafa  III,  which  gave 


372       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

me  a  clew  to  the  date  of  the  fountain.  And  after  that  I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  gentle- 
man whose  summer  yali  Hes  across  the  road  from  the  foun- 
tain, and  he  told  me  that  the  fountain  was  built  by  the 
Shei'h  iil  Islam  of  Moustafa  IIL  There  is,  too,  a  fountain 
at  Emirgyan,  in  front  of  the  Khedival  garden,  which,  for 
all  its  baroque  Hues,  seems  to  me  to  terminate  a  vista 
very  happily.  But  I  do  not  hesitate  to  add  that  few  wall 
fountains  built  since  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century 
are  worth  any  attention. 

We  can  hardly  call  it  a  discovery  that  the  architects 
made  when  they  first  detached  a  street  fountain  from  the 
wall  and  made  something  more  monumental  out  of  it. 
The  thing  had  already  been  done  indoors  and  in  the 
courts  of  mosques.  The  earhest  specimens,  however, 
show  their  evokition  very  clearly.  They  are  nothing 
but  wall  fountains  appHed  to  a  cube  of  masonry.  I  sup- 
pose the  religious  associations  of  the  shadrivan  kept  its 
tradition  from  being  followed,  but  with  experience  free- 
dom was  gained  in  the  treatment  of  the  detached  foun- 
tain. Typical  of  its  kind  is  a  fountain  in  the  waterside 
grove  of  plane-trees  at  Chibouklou,  to  which  Ibrahim 
Pasha,  the  Grand  Vizier  of  Ahmed  III,  gave  the  name  of 
Feizabad  —  Place  of  the  Abundant  Blessing  of  God.  A 
great  oblong  pool  reflects  the  trees,  and  nearer  the  Bos- 
phorus  is  a  raised  space  of  the  kind  the  Turks  call  a  turf 
sofa.  On  one  side  of  it  a  concave  tablet,  carved  with  a 
lamp  swinging  from  a  chain,  indicates  the  direction  of 
prayer.  On  the  other  stands  a  simple  marble  fountain, 
bearing  three  chronograms  of  1133  or  1721.  Twenty- 
eight  Mehmed  was  then  in  Paris,  and  the  new  fashion 
was  not  yet  launched  in  fountains.  An  early  and  a  very 
happy  experiment  in  that  fashion  adorns  Ahmed's  park 


FOUNTAINS 


373 


at  Kiat  Haneh.  But  the  model  and  masterpiece  of  this 
little  golden  age  is  the  great  fountain  at  Top  Haneh,  be- 
side the  mosque  of  Don  Quixote.  It  lacks,  alas,  the 
domed  roof  and  broad  eaves  that  Melling  represents  in 
one  of  his  pictures.  Moreover  a  trolley  post  has  been 
planted  squarely  at  its  most  conspicuous  corner,  while 


Fountain  of  Ahmed  111  in  the  park  at  Kiat  Haneh 

Ugly  iron  fences  attack  two  of  its  sides;  and  the  War  De- 
partment thinks  nothing  of  making  a  dumping-ground 
of  the  enclosed  angle.  Yet  none  of  these  indignities  affect 
the  distinction  of  the  floral  reliefs  that  cover  its  white 
marble,  or  of  its  frieze  of  gold  inscriptions  spaced  in  a 
double  row  of  blue  cartouches. 

A  less  ornamental  but  a  deservedly  famous  fountain 
of  the  same  period  is  to  be  seen  on  the  upper  Bosphorus, 
at  Bcikos.     T  suspect,  however,  that  it  was  once  more 


374       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

ornamental  than  it  is.  A  tall  marble  pavilion  hospitably 
opens  its  arches  on  three  sides  to  the  streets  of  the  village. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  wall  on  the  fourth  side  water  pours 
noisily  out  of  fifteen  bronze  spouts  —  or  I    beheve  they 


Detail  of  the  fountain  of  Mahmoud  I  at  Top  Haneh 


are  thirteen  now  —  into  three  marble  troughs  sunk  be- 
low the  level  of  the  street,  and  runs  away  through  a 
marble  channel  in  the  middle  of  the  pavilion.  From 
this  T-shaped  lower  level  steps  rise  to  two  marble  plat- 
forms at  the  outer  corners,  where  you  may  sip  a  coffee 


FOUNTAINS 


375 


while  drinking  in  the  freshness  and  music  of  the  water. 
This  delightful  fountain  was  also  built  by  Mahmoud  I. 
I  know  not  whether  the  inhabitants  of  Roumeli  Hissar 
got  from  Beikos  the  idea  of  a  fountain  of  their  own,  much 


Fountain  of  Abd  ul  Hamid  II 


smaller,  which  is  flat  on  top  and  furnished  with  benches 
that  are  very  popular  on  summer  evenings.  Another,  at 
Beilerbei',  has  a  place  of  prayer  on  the  top,  which  you 
reach  by  a  steep  little  stair  of  stone.  Yet  another  might 
be  pointed  out  at  Top  Haneh,  in  front  of  the  big  mosque, 


376       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

as  at  least  one  good  deed  of  the  late  Sultan  Abd  iil 
Hamid  IL  It  would  not  be  fair  to  compare  this  struc- 
ture with  its  greater  neighbour  at  the  other  end  of  the 
parade-ground.  Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  its  ugly  sculp- 
ture, it  is  one  of  the  most  successful  modern  fountains 
in  Constantinople.  Suggested,  perhaps,  by  a  fountain 
behind  the  Arsenal,  built  by  the  Admiral  Siileiman  Pasha 
in  1750,  it  is  much  happier  in  its  lines.  And  the  archi- 
tect had  something  like  a  stroke  of  genius  when  he 
opened  a  space  above  the  taps  and  filled  it  with  twisted 
metal  work.  The  little  dome  was  originally  surmounted 
by  an  intricately  wrought  alcm.  But  the  winter  after  the 
donor  retired  to  Salonica  this  ornament  disappeared  as 
well. 

No  one  can  explore  much  of  Stamboul  without  notic- 
ing certain  large  grilled  windows  with  metal  cups  chained 
to  their  sills.  These  are  the  windows  of  sehils,  which  I 
have  referred  to  as  one  type  of  street  fountain.  If  I 
have  not  yet  mentioned  them  more  fully  it  is  because 
their  chronological  place  is  after  the  wall  fountain. 
They  are  also  much  less  numerous,  though  architecturally 
rather  more  important.  The  word  sehil  means  way  or 
path:  to  build  a  sebit is  a  step  on  the  way  to  God.  The 
water  comes  into  a  small  room  or  pavilion,  and  an  attend- 
ant is  supposed  to  keep  cups  filled  where  they  will  be 
easily  accessible  from  the  street.  A  simpler  form  of 
foundation  provides  for  a  man  to  go  about  the  streets 
giving  water  to  those  who  ask  for  it.  Or  sometimes  der- 
vishes seek  this  "way"  of  acquiring  merit.  They  usually 
wear  green  turbans,  and  the  inside  of  the  small  brass 
bowl  into  which  they  pour  water  from  a  skin  slung  over 
their  shoulders  is  inscribed  with  verses  from  the  Koran. 

The  Seljukian  Turks  of  Asia  Minor,  I  have  been  told. 


FOUNTAINS 


377 


were  the  inventors  of  this  graceful  philanthropy,  remem- 
bering the  thirst  of  the  martyr  Hussein  at  Kerbela  and 
the  women  who  brought  water  to  the  companions  of  the 
Prophet  at  the  battle  of  Bed'r.    The  earHest  sehil  I  know 


L 


imi 


Sebil  behind  the  tomb  of  Sultan  Mehmed  III 


of  in  Constantinople,  however,  is  the  one  at  the  corner 
of  the  triangular  enclosure  where  the  architect  Sinan  lies 
buried,  near  the  great  mosque  he  built  for  Sultan  Sulei- 
man. Small  and  simple  though  it  is,  the  lines  have  the 
elegance  that  distinguishes  the  work  of  this  master.  And 
it   proved   full  of  suggestion   for  succeeding  architects. 


378      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

It  showed  them,  for  one  thing,  how  to  treat  a  corner  in 
a  new  and  interesting  way.  And  while  the  metal  work 
of  the  windows  is  the  simplest,  the  designers  in  iron  and 
bronze  found  a  new  field  for  their  craft.  One  or  two 
architects  took  a  hint  from  the  openwork  that  Hghtens 
the  wall  beyond  the  sehil  and  filled  their  windows  with 
pierced  marble,  as  in  the  fountain  adjoining  the  tomb  of 
Sultan  Mehmed  III  at  St.  Sophia.  But  most  architects 
preferred  the  Hghtness  and  the  contrast  of  metal.  Some 
of  their  experiments  may  be  rather  too  comphcated  and 
spidery.  Nevertheless,  the  grille  work  of  schil  windows 
would  make  an  interesting  study  by  itself. 

In  time  sehils  were  treated  in  the  same  variety  of 
ways  as  other  street  fountains.  Perhaps  the  first  example 
of  an  apphed  sehil  is  that  of  the  eunuch  Hafiz  Ahmed 
Pasha.  The  fountain  forms  an  angle  of  his  mosque,  not 
far  from  that  of  the  Conqueror.  Ahmed  Pasha  was 
twice  Grand  Vizier  under  Sultan  iMourad  IV.  Shortly 
before  his  death  the  Conqueror  appeared  to  him  in  a 
dream,  angrily  reproaching  him  for  building  a  mosque 
so  near  his  own  and  threatening  to  kill  him.  The  old 
man  was  greatly  troubled  by  this  vision  of  evil  omen; 
and,  sure  enough,  he  was  murdered  about  two  months 
afterward.  There* is  something  very  attractive  in  his  un- 
pretentious sehil,  with  its  tall  pointed  windows,  its  little 
arched  door,  and  its  lichened  cupola.  Another  applied 
corner  sebil,  built  by  Sultan  Ahmed  I  behind  his  mosque, 
is  unusual  in  that  it  is  lined  with  tiles.  Similar  tiles  are  to 
be  seen  in  the  window  embrasures  of  that  Sultan's  tomb. 
Their  conventionalised  peacock  eyes,  a  green-rimmed 
oval  of  blue  on  a  white  ground,  would  be  too  coarse  in 
the  open;  but  seen  in  shadow^  through  the  small  hexa- 
gons of  the  grille,  they  are  wonderfully  decorative.  By  an 
odd  chance  they  w  ere  not  destroyed  by  the  fire  that  raged 


FOUNTAINS 


379 


through  this  quarter  in  191 2.  Among  other  fountains 
which  came  off  less  happily  was  one  uniting  a  sebil  and 
a  cheshmeh.  This  experiment,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  was 
first  tried  in  the  time  of  Ahmed  III.  A  beautiful  example 
is  to  be  seen  on  the  busy  street  of  Shah-zadeh,  where 
Ahmed's  Grand  Vizier,  Ibrahim  Pasha,  is  buried  within 


Scbil  of  Sultan  Ahmed  III 


his  own  medresseh.  Four  windows  round  the  corner  with 
a  curve  of  handsome  grille  work,  while  the  tall  arch  of 
the  cheshmeh  decorates  the  side  street  with  its  gilding 
and  dehcate  rehefs. 

The  most  beautiful  example  of  all,  the  king,  in  fact, 
of  Constantinople  street  fountains,  is  the  one  which 
Ahmed  III  built  outside  the  great  gate  of  the  Seragho. 
It  stands  four-square  on  a  circular  marble  base,  having 
a   curved   sehil  window  at  each  corner  and  the  pointed 


38o      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

arch  of  a  cheshmeb  in  the  middle  of  each  side.  The  over- 
hanging roof  is  crowned  by  five  fantastic  Httle  domes  and 
gilded  alcms.  The  traceries  are  not  quite  so  delicate, 
perhaps,  as  those  of  Top  Haneh,  nor  does  the  whiteness 
of  marble  make  up  any  of  the  effect  of  this  fountain. 
The  brightness  of  its  original  polychrome  decoration  has 
acquired  a  soft  patina  of  time.  The  main  effect  is  given 
here  by  the  great  gold  inscriptions  on  a  blue-green  ground, 
framed  in  plain  terra-cotta,  and  by  a  frieze  of  l)hie  and 
white  tiles  enclosed  i^etuecn  two  I^ands  of  a  delicious 
dark  velvety  green.  The  principal  chronogram  of  the 
fountain,  facing  St.  Sophia,  was  written  by  the  Sultan 
himself.  It  is  said  that  his  first  version  added  up  to  four 
less  than  the  required  sum,  which  should  ha\"e  been  i  141 
(1729).  It  read:  "The  date  of  Sultan  Ahmed  fiows 
from  the  tongue  of  the  faucet.  Praising  God,  drink  of 
the  fountain  and  pray  for  Ahmed  Khan."  A  witty 
ecclesiastic  to  whom  his  majesty  confided  his  dilemma 
solved  the  difficulty  by  suggesting  that  it  was  necessary 
to  turn  on  the  water  before  it  would  flow.  The  imperial 
poet  thereupon  added  the  word  "open"  to  his  second 
hemistich  and  completed  the  chronogram.  The  other  in- 
scriptions were  chosen  by  competition  from  among  the 
chief  poets  of  the  day.  This  fountain  is  unsurpassed  for 
the  richness  of  its  detail.  Even  the  under-side  of  the 
eaves  is  decorated  with  wavy  gilt  mouldings  and  painted 
reliefs  of  fruit  and  flowers.  But  the  details  take  nothing 
away  from  the  general  effect.  It  is  the  balance  of  them, 
after  all,  the  admirable  silhouette,  the  perfect  proportion, 
that  give  this  monument  its  singular  beauty  and  dignit3\ 
There  is  another  large  detached  sebil  in  Galata,  near 
the  bridge  of  Azap  Kapou.  It  was  built  soon  after  the 
fountain  of  Ahmed  III  by  the  mother  of  Sultan 
Mahmoud  I.     Crowded  between  the  surrounding  houses. 


FOUNTAINS  381 

H 
It  enjoys  no  such  advantages  of  perspective  as  its  more 
famous  rivals  of  St.  Sophia  and  Top  Haneh.  The  greater 
part  of  the  edifice,  indeed,  is  no  more  than  a  blank  stone 
reservoir.  But  the  side  facing  the  main  street  is  treated 
with  a  masterly  sense  of  its  position.  Projecting  out 
from  the  centre  is  the  circular  sebil  window,  filled  with  a 
rich  bronze  grille,  while  set  a  little  back  on  either  side, 
and  slightly  inclined  toward  either  perspective  of  the 
street,  are  two  tSiW'cheshmehs.  The  niche  of  each  and  the 
whole  face  of  the  structure  is  incrusted  with  intricate 
iloral  reliefs  more  delicate  even  than  those  of  Top  Haneh, 
though  not  executed  in  so  white  a  stone.  There  are  also 
pots  and  vases  of  (lowers  and  sheaves  of  wheat,  and  above 
the  tap  of  each  niche  is  a  pointed  openwork  boss  of 
bronze.  Here,  too,  the  richness  of  the  ornament  com- 
bines with  the  composition  and  height  of  the  fagade  and 
the  sweep  of  the  eaves  to  reach  something  not  far  from 
a  grand  air. 

No  other  sehil  of  the  left  bank  is  executed  in  so  re- 
fined a  style  as  this.  But  many  other  fountains,  in  all 
parts  of  the  city,  have  a  happy  knack  of  filling  a  space 
or  turning  a  corner  or  screening  a  dark  interior  with 
twisted  metal  work.  The  difficulty  is  to  choose  instances. 
I  might  mention  the  sehil  of  Ba'iram  Pasha  at  Avret 
Bazaar;  of  Mehmed  Emin  Effendi,  half  fountain  and  half 
tomb,  which  lends  its  elegance  to  the  neighbourhood  of 
Dolma  Ba'hcheh  Palace;  of  Abd  iil  Hamid  I  at  Findikli; 
of  Laleli  Jami,  the  Tulip  Mosque,  which  Moustafa  HI 
built  at  Ak  Serai.  For  the  Western  architect  they  are 
full  of  unexpected  suggestions,  if  he  have  the  eye  to 
see,  while  to  the  mere  irresponsible  impressionist  they 
make  up  a  great  part  in  the  strangeness  and  charm  of 
the  Turkish  capital. 


XIII 

A   TURKISH   VILLAGE 

There  arc  larger  villages.  There  are  more  pros- 
perous villages.  There  are  villages  more  fashionable. 
Great  ladies  lift  their  eyebrows  when  we  pronounce  its 
name,  even  ladies  not  so  great,  and  decide  that  we  will 
hardly  do  for  their  visiting  hsts.  But  few  villages 
are  so  picturesque  as  ours.  And  in  one  respect  at  least 
we  are  surpassed  by  no  village.  For  we  sit  on  that 
cleft  promontory  of  the  Bosphorus  where,  during  the 
league-long  coquetry  of  the  two  continents  before  their 
final  union,  Europe  most  closely  approaches  Asia.  The 
mother  of  nations,  as  we  see  her  some  eight  hundred 
yards  away,  is  a  slope  sunburnt  or  green  according  to 
the  time  of  year  but  always  discreetly  overlooked  by 
farther  heights  of  blue,  a  slope  sharp  enough,  not  too 
high,  admirably  broken  by  valleys  and  points  and  one 
perfect  little  bay  for  w^hich  I  sometimes  think  I  would 
give  all  the  rest  of  the  Bosphorus,  a  slope  beaded  irreg- 
ularly along  the  bottom  with  red-roofed  summer  yalis, 
variegated  w^ith  gardens  and  hamlets  and  nestling 
patches  of  wood,  and  feathered  along  the  top  with 
cypresses  and  stone-pines  in  quite  an  Italian  manner. 
For  my  part,  I  fail  to  see  why  any  one  should  ever  have 
desired  to  leave  so  delectable  a  continent,  particularly 
at  a  period  when  the  hospitality  of  our  village  must 
have  been  more  scant  than  it  is  now.  But  history  has 
recorded  many  a   migration  to  our  side  of  the  strait. 

382 


A  TURKISH   VILLAGE  383 

Here  Xenophon  crossed  with  the  remnant  of  his  ten  thou- 
sand.    Here    Darius    sat    upon    a    throne    of   rock    and 
^vatched  Persia  swarm  after  him  against  the  Scythians. 
Here,    too,    the   great   emperor   Heraclius,    returning   to 
Constantinople  after  his  triumphs  in  the  East,  caused  a 
pontoon  bridge  to  be  railed  high  with  woven  branches  in 
order  to  screen  from  his  eyes  the  water  he  dreaded  more 
than  blood.     And  here  Sultan  Mehmed  II   opened  the 
campaign  which  ended  in  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire. 
The  castle  he  built  in   1452,  the  summer  before  he 
took  Constantinople,  is  what  gives  our  village  its  char- 
acter  and    its    name.     Roumeli   Hissar   means    Roman, 
Greek,    European,   or  western    castle,    distinguishing    us 
from  the  opposite  village  of  Andolou  Hissar,  where  stand 
the  ruins  of  the  earlier  fortress  of  Baiezid  the  Thunder- 
bolt.    To  see  the  two  round  towers  of  Roumeli  Hissar 
facing  each  other  across  a  ravine,  the  polygonal  keep  at 
the  water's  edge,  the  crenelated  walls  and  turrets  irreg- 
ularly enclosing  the  steep  triangle   between  them,   you 
would  never  guess  that  they  sprang  up  in  about  the  time 
of  a  New  York  apartment-house.     Yet  that  they  did  so 
is  better  attested  than  the  legend  that  their  arrangement 
reproduces   the   Arabic   letters   of  their   builder's   name. 
Having  demanded  permission  of  the  Greek  emperor  to 
put  up  a  hunting-lodge  on  the  Bosphorus,  the  Conqueror 
proceeded  to  employ  an  army  of  masons,  in  addition  to 
his  own  troops,  with  orders  to  destroy  any  buildings  they 
found  convenient  to  use  for  material.     So  it  is  that  the 
shafts  and  capitals  of  columns,  the  pieces  of  statues,  the 
fragments  of  decorative   brick  and  marble,  that  give  so 
interesting  a  variety  of  detail  to  the  structure  are  a  last 
dim   suggestion    of  the   ancient   aspects   of  the   village. 
One  of  its  Byzantine  names  was  that  of  the  Asomatcm, 
the  Bodiless  Angels,  to  whom  a  monastery  in  the  place 


384      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

was  dedicated,  while  earlier  still  a  temple  of  Hermes  had 
existed  there.  In  three  months  the  hunting-lodge  was 
ready  for  occupancy,  and  the  Sultan  called  it  Cut-Throat 
Castle,  a  play  on  the  Turkish  word  which  means  both 
throat  and  strait.  It  put  the  Bosphorus  at  his  mercy,  as 
a  Venetian  galley  that  went  to  the  bottom  under  a  big 


Cut-Throat  Castle  from  the  water 


Stone  cannon-ball  was  the  first  to  testify  —  though  the 
Genoese  commanded  the  mouth  of  the  Black  Sea  from 
another  pair  of  castles.  But  in  spite  of  their  hasty  con- 
struction the  walls  have  withstood  the  decay  and  the 
earthquakes  of  nearly  five  hundred  years.  Will  as  much 
be  said  of  existing  New^  York  apartment-houses  in  the 
twenty-fifth  century? 

Powerful  as  the  fortress  was  in  its  day,  and  interest- 


A  TURKISH   VILLAGE 


385 


ing  as  it  remains  as  a  monument  to  the  energy  and  re- 
source of  its  builder,  it  never  played  a  great  part  in  the 
martial  history  of  the  Turks.  The  Bosphorus  was  not 
then  the  important  highway  it  is  now.  After  the  cap- 
ture of  Constantinople  the  castle  degenerated  into  a 
garrison  of  Janissaries  and  a  state  prison  of   less    im- 


The  castle  of  Baiezid  the  Thunderbolt 

portance  than  the  Seven  Towers.  Not  a  few  passages 
of  romance,  however,  attach  to  that  diminished  period. 
More  than  one  European  diplomat  spent  a  season  of  re- 
pose within  the  walls  of  Cut-Throat  Castle,  in  days  when 
international  law  was  less  fmical  on  such  points  than  it 
since  has  grown.  And  it  formed  a  residence  less  agree- 
able than  the  present  country  embassies,  if  we  may  judge 
from  the  account  that  has  come  down  to  us  of  one  such 


386      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

villeggiatura.  This  was  wrIttcMi  by  a  young  Bohemian 
attache  who  spent  two  years  of  the  sixteenth  century 
in  enforced  retirement  at  Roumeli  Hissar.  His  name, 
Wenceslas  Wratislaw,  with  those  of  other  prisoners,  may 
still  be  seen  In  the  stone  of  a  little  chamber  high  in  the 
north  tower,  hi  the  same  tower,  commanding  a  magnifi- 
cent view,  the  Conqueror  lived  while  preparing  his  great 
siege.  Whether  this,  or  the  angular  tower  by  the  water, 
or  some  other  donjon  of  the  Bosphorus  was  the  Black 
Tower  ^\hich  has  so  unsavoury  a  name  in  Turkish  an- 
nals I  have  never  quite  made  up  my  mind. 

To-day  the  castle  has  outlived  even  that  period  of 
usefulness.  The  true  cutthroats  skulk  in  the  bare  hills 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Black  Sea,  while  the  ambassadors  — 
with  the  single  exception,  it  is  true,  of  our  own  —  pass 
their  summers  in  pleasant  villas  presented  to  them  by 
different  Sultans.  As  for  the  towers,  they  survive  only 
to  add  their  picturesqueness  to  the  narrowest  part  of  the 
Bosphorus,  to  Haunt  ivy  and  even  sizable  trees  from  their 
battlements,  and  to  alTord  a  habitation  to  bats  and  car- 
rion-crows. The  last  vestige  of  military  uses  clinging  to 
them  is  the  pseudo-classic  guard-house  that  crouches  un- 
der the  waterside  keep.  The  walls  at  least  subserve  the 
purpose,  however,  of  sheltering  a  quarter  of  our  village. 
One  of  our  thoroughfares  enters  the  double  gate  by  the 
north  tower,  descends  a  breakneck  alley  of  steps  lattice- 
bordered  and  hung  with  vine,  pauses  between  a  fountain, 
a  ruined  mosque,  and  a  monstrous  mulberry-tree,  and 
finally  emerges  upon  the  quay  by  a  low^  arch  that  was 
once  the  boat  entrance  to  the  sea  tower.  There  is  to  a 
prying  foreigner  some  inheritance  of  other  days  in  the 
inhabitants  of  this  hanging  suburb.  They  are  all  of  the 
ruling  race  and  there  is  about  them  something  intrenched 
and  aloof.     The  very  dogs  seem  to  belong  to  an  older, 


The  north  tower  of  the  castle 


A  TURKISH   VILLAGE  389 

a  less  tolerant,  dispensation.  The  Constantinople  street 
dog,  notwithstanding  the  reputation  that  Uterature  has 
attempted  to  fasten  upon  him,  is  in  general  the  mildest 
of  God's  creatures.  But  the  dog  of  Cut-Throat  Castle 
is  quite  another  character.  He  is  a  distinct  reactionary, 
lifting  up  his  voice  against  the  first  sign  of  innovation. 
It  may  be  that  generations  of  surrounding  walls  have  en- 
gendered in  him  the  responsibilities  of  a  private  dog.  At 
all  events  he  resents  intrusion  by  day,  and  by  night  is 
capable  of  the  most  obstinate  resistance  thereto. 

Another  memento  of  that  older  time  is  to  be  seen  in 
the  cemetery  lying  under  the  castle  wall  to  the  south. 
It  is,  perhaps,  the  oldest  Mohammedan  burying-ground 
in  Constantinople,  or  at  least  on  the  European  shore  of 
the  Bosphorus.     It  certainly  is  the  most  romantic,  with 
its  jutting  rocks,   its  ragged  black  cypresses,   its  round 
tower  and  crenelated  wall,  overhanging  a  blue  so  fanci- 
fully  cut   by  Asiatic  hills.     It  has,  too,  a  spicy  odour 
quite  its  own,  an  odour  compounded  of  thyme,  of  resin- 
ous woods,  of  sea-salt,  and  I   know  not  what  aroma  of 
antiquity.     But   its   most   precious   characteristic   is  the 
grave    informality    it    shares    with    other    Mohammedan 
cemeteries.     There  is  nothing  about  it  to  remind  one  of 
conventional    mourning  —  no    alignment    of   tombs,    no 
rectilinear  laying  out  of  walks,  no  trim  landscape  garden- 
ing.    It  lies  unwalled  to  the  world,  the  gravestones  scat- 
tered as  irregularly  on  the  steep  hillside  as  the  cyclamens 
that  blossom  there  in  February.     Many  of  them  have 
.  the  same  brightness  of  colour.     The  tall   narrow  slabs 
are  often  painted,  with  the  decorative  Arabic  lettering, 
or  some  quaint  floral  design,  picked  out  in  gold.     It  is 
another  expression  of  the  philosophy  of  the  guard-house 
soldiers  who  so  often  lounge  along  the  water,  of  the  boy 
who  plays  his  pipe  under  a  cypress  while  the  village  goats 


390      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

nibble  among  the  graves,  of  the  veiled  women  who  preen 
their  silks  among  the  rocks  on  summer  afternoons.  The 
whole  place  is  interfused  with  that  intimacy  of  life  and 
death,  the  sense  of  which  makes  the  Asiatic  so  much 
more  mature  than  the  European.  The  one  takes  the 
world  as  he  finds  it,  while  the  other  must  childishly  beat 
his  head  against  stone  walls.  It  is  the  source  of  the 
strength  and  of  the  weakness  of  the  two  stocks. 

We  also  love  to  congregate,  or  in  Empedoclean  moods 
to  muse  alone,  about  another  old  cemetery.  There,  on 
top  of  the  steep  slope  behind  the  castle,  you  will  often 
see  a  row  of  w^omen,  like  love-birds  contemplating  the 
universe,  or  a  grave  family  picnic.  There  too,  especially 
on  moonlight  nights,  you  will  not  seldom  hear  voices  up- 
lifted in  the  passionate  minor  which  has  so  compelling  a 
charm  for  those  who  know  it  of  old,  accompanied  perhaps 
by  an  oboe  and  the  strangely  broken  rhythm  of  two  little 
drums.  It  is  the  true  music  for  a  hilltop  that  is  called 
the  Place  of  Martyrs.  The  victims  of  the  first  skirmish 
that  took  place  during  the  building  of  the  castle  lie  there, 
under  a  file  of  oaks  and  cypresses.  At  the  north  end  of 
the  ridge  a  few  broken  grey  stones  are  scattered  among 
tufts  of  scrub-oak  that  soon  give  way  to  the  rounded 
bareness  of  the  hiHside.  At  the  other  end  newer  and 
more  honourable  graves,  protected  by  railings,  attend 
a  tekkeh  of  Bektash  dervishes.  This  establishment  was 
founded  by  a  companion  of  the  Conqueror.  Mohammed 
gave  him,  as  the  story  goes,  all  the  land  he  could  see  from 
the  top  of  the  hill.  The  present  sheikh  is  a  descendant 
of  the  founder,  but  I  do  not  believe  he  inherited  all  the 
land  he  can  see.  The  view  from  the  Place  of  Martyrs  is  ' 
one  of  the  finest  on  the  Bosphorus.  I  am  not  of  the 
company  of  certain  travellers  in  the  matter  of  that  fa- 
mous strait.     I  have  seen  hills  with  greater  nobility  of 


A  TURKISH   VILLAGE  391 

outline  and  waters  of  a  more  satisfying  blue.  But  when 
one  has  made  all  due  reservations  in  the  interest  of  one's 
private  allegiances  the  fact  remains  that  the  Bosphorus 
is  a  charming  piece  of  water  enclosed  between  charmingly 
moulded  hills.  It  bends  below  you  hke  a  narrow  lake 
as  you  see  it  from  the  Place  of  Martyrs.  The  northern 
sea  is  invisible;  but  southward  the  tops  of  islands  look 
over  the  heights  of  Scutari,  and  the  Marmora  ghmmcrs 
to  the  feet  of  a  ghostly  range  that  sometimes  pretends 
not  to  be  there. 

Nothing  could  be  more  abrupt  than  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  slopes  facing  each  other  across  the  busy  water- 
way, with  all  their  picturesque  detail  of  garden,  roof,  and 
minaret,  and  the  plateau  of  which  the  Bosphorus  is 
nothing  but  a  crooked  bkie  crack.  From  the  Phicc  of 
Martyrs  it  rolls  desolately  away  to  the  west,  almost 
without  a  house  or  a  tree  to  break  its  monotony.  Gulhes 
cut  it  here  and  there.  Patches  of  scrub-oak  darken  its 
surface.  Sheep  move  slowly  across  it,  looking  in  the  dis- 
tance like  maggots  in  a  texture  of  homespun.  Otherwise 
you  would  never  suppose  that  Hfe  existed  there.  As  you 
w^atch  the  sun  set  across  those  great  empty  fields  it  is  in- 
credible that  somewhere  beyond  them  tilled  lands  and 
swarming  cities  are.  Your  impression  is  not  of  mere 
wildness,  however.  Two  abandoned  stone  windmills  on 
a  far-off  hill  give  the  note  of  the  impression.  Such 
silence  is  the  silence  that  follows  upon  the  beating  of 
many  drums.  You  maj^  sit  upon  that  hilltop  in  evening 
light  and  drink  melancholy  Hke  an  intoxication,  musing 
upon  all  the  change  and  indifference  of  the  world.  Yet 
life  lingers  there  still  —  hfe  that  neither  indifference  nor 
change,  nor  time  nor  ruin  nor  death  can  ever  quite  stamp 
out.  Threads  of  water  creep  through  some  of  the  dry 
gullies,    swelhng   after   rain    into    noisy    brooks.     Above 


392      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

them  hang  patches  of  cultivation,  dominated  by  the 
general  brownness  and  bareness,  but  productive  of  excel- 
lent strawberries  in  the  spring.  That,  too,  is  one  of  the 
times  when  the  brown  brightens  for  a  little  to  green, 
while  June  colours  whole  tracts  of  hillside  with  butcher's- 
broom  and  the  wild  rose.  And  then  I  have  said  nothing 
of  heather,  of  crocuses,  of  violets,  of  I  know  not  how  many 
flowers  scattered  along  certain  lonely  lanes.  On  the 
edge  of  the  village  these  are  paved  like  streets  and 
pleasantly  arched  with  bay-trees.  In  the  bottoms  of 
the  ravines,  also,  they  have  in  their  season  quite  a  sylvan 
air.  They  lead  to  stony  trails  in  the  open  where  you 
may  meet  a  soldier,  an  Albanian  shepherd,  or  a  peasant 
in  gay  jacket  and  baggy  blue  trousers,  wandering  from 
nowhere  to  nowhere. 

But  I  wander  too  far  from  our  village,  from  that  larger 
part  of  it  which  the  exigencies  of  space  must  long  ago 
have  pushed  northward  out  of  the  castle  close  into  the 
underlying  valley.  There  are  those  who  deprecate  our 
streets,  their  many  steps,  the  manner  of  their  paving, 
the  irresoluteness  with  which  they  proceed  to  their  des- 
tined ends,  and  the  desultoriness  of  their  illumination  at 
night.  I,  however,  am  partial  to  a  Gothic  irregularity, 
and  I  applaud  the  law  which  admonishes  us  not  to  go 
abroad  two  hours  after  sunset  without  a  lantern.  We 
do  not  take  the  admonition  too  seriously,  but  there  are 
chances  enough  of  breaking  our  necks  on  moonless  nights 
to  maintain  a  market  among  us  for  paper  lanterns. 
These,  with  the  candles  flaring  in  front  of  sacred  tombs 
and  the  casual  window  lamplight  so  pleasingly  criss- 
crossed by  lattices,  make  Whistler  nocturnes  for  us  that 
they  may  never  know  who  dwell  in  the  glare  of  electricity. 

If  I  fmd  anything  to  deprecate  it  is  the  tendency 
gaining  ground  among  us  to  depart  from  the  ways  of  our 


A  TURKISH   VILLAGE  393 

fathers  in  the  matter  of  domestic  architecture.  The 
jig-saw  and  the  paint  pot  begin  to  exercise  their  fatal 
fascination  upon  us  who  were  so  long  content  with  simple 
lines  and  the  colour  of  weathered  wood.  But  the  pert 
gables  of  the  day  are  still  outnumbered  by  square  old 
many-windowed  houses  with  low-pitched  roofs  of  red 
tiles  and  corbelled  upper  stories  inherited  from  the  Byzan- 
tines. Under  the  eaves  you  will  often  see  a  decorative 
text  from  the  Koran,  framed  like  a  picture,  which  insures 
the  protection  of  heaven  better  than  premium  or  policy. 
No  house  is  too  small  to  have  a  garden,  walled  as  a  garden 
should  be,  and  doing  more  for  the  outsider  by  its  green 
suggestions  of  withdrawal  than  by  any  complete  revela- 
tion of  its  charms.  Few  of  these  pleasances  do  not 
enjoy  some  view  of  the  Bosphorus.  I  know  one  such, 
containing  a  Byzantine  capital  that  makes  the  cedar  of 
Lebanon  above  it  throw  as  secular  a  shade  as  you  please, 
so  cunningly  laid  out  at  length  on  the  hillside  that  the 
Bosphorus  is  a  mere  ornamental  water  of  a  lower  terrace. 
This  Grand  Canal  of  Constantinople  enters  bodily  into 
certain  thrice  enviable  yalis  on  the  water's  edge.  Their 
windows  overhang  the  sea,  or  are  separated  from  it  merely 
by  a  narrow  causeway.  And  each  contains  its  own  marble 
basin  for  boats,  communicating  with  the  open  by  a  water- 
gate  or  by  a  canal  or  tunnel  through  the  quay. 

Distinctively  Turkish  as  the  flavour  of  our  village  is, 
we  yet  resemble  the  city  and  the  empire  to  which  we  are 
tributary  in  the  variety  of  our  population.  Of  Greeks 
there  are  few.  It  was  perhaps  natural  for  them  to  flee 
the  first  stronghold  of  their  conquerors  on  this  side  of 
the  Bosphorus  —  if  they  ever  inhabited  it  in  any  num- 
ber. An  Armenian  quarter,  however,  scrambles  up  the 
north  side  of  the  valley.  You  can  recognise  the  houses 
bv   their   lack   of  lattices,    and   the   priest   by  the   high 


394      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

conical  crown  of  his  hat.  There  are  also  Albanians, 
Croats,  Jews,  Macedonians,  and  Montenegrins  among 
us,  in  addition  to  nothing  less  exotic  than  a  small  Anglo- 
American  colony.  It  dwells  on  the  upper  fringe  of  habi- 
tation, the  American  part  of  it  being  connected,  prin- 
cipally, with  the  college  founded  by  a  Mr.  Robert  of 
New  York. 

The  grey  stone  buildings  stand  on  a  splendid  terrace 
above  the  south  tower  of  the  castle,  visible  from  afar. 
And  they  always  make  me  sorry  that  such  a  chance  was 
lost  for  some  rare  person  equal  to  the  opportunity,  who 
should  have  combined  a  knowledge  of  modern  educational 
requirements  with  a  feeling  for  the  simple  broad-eaved 
houses  of  the  country  and  their  picturesque  corbels. 
However,  there  the  grey  stone  buildings  stand,  ugly  and 
foreign,  but  solid  and  sufficient,  an  object  of  suspicion 
to  some,  to  others  an  example  of  the  strange  vicissitudes 
of  the  world,  w^hereby  above  a  promontory  sacred  once 
to  Hermes,  later  to  Byzantine  saints,  and  again  to  Mo- 
hammed, there  should  fly  to-day  the  flag  of  a  country  so 
distant  as  our  own.  The  condition  on  which  the  flag 
flies  is  not  the  least  picturesque  of  these  incongruities. 
The  proprietors  from  whom  the  first  land  was  obtained 
were  the  holy  cities"  of  Mecca  and  Medina,  and  in  con- 
formity with  the  law  governing  such  property  the  col- 
lege bound  itself  to  pay  them,  in  addition  to  the  price  of 
purchase,  a  yearly  tribute  of  some  fourteen  dollars. 

I  might  speak  of  other  public  institutions  flourish- 
ing in  our  midst:  of  the  primary  school  by  the  water 
where  you  hear  the  children  studying  aloud  while  they 
rock  back  and  forth  over  the  Koran;  of  the  Siinbullu 
dervishes  farther  down  the  quay,  to  whom  laden  wood 
boats  throw  out  a  few  sticks  as  they  tow  up  the  five- 
mile  current;    of  the  howling  dervishes,  and  the  clever 


A  TURKISH   VILLAGE  395 

ruse  by  which  they  obtained  their  building;   of  our  three 
mosques  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  imam's  mother  of  the 
smallest  of  them,  an  active  yet  beneficent  pubHc  insti- 
tution in  herself,  who,  when  the  American  college  dug 
foundations  for  a  wall  round  a  slope  long  beloved  by  the 
Turkish  ladies,  threw  her  ample  person    most    literally 
into  the  breach  and  could  only  be  persuaded  to  retire 
therefrom  by  the  Ministry  of  Public  Works.     Nor  should 
I  pass  over  our  village  green,  which  was  once  a  cemetery, 
but  which  is  now  a  common  meeting-place  for  those  of 
us  who  are  happy  enough  to  live  about  it.     Some  of  us 
spend  most  of  our  time  there,   in  the  company  of  our 
wives,   our  children,   our  horses,   our  donkeys,   and  our 
hens.     Most  notable  among  the  habitues  —  at  least  to 
an  alien  eye  —  is  a  lady  of  African  descent,  espoused  to 
a  meek  Caucasian  water-carrier  and  the  mother  of   an 
infinite  chocolate-and-cream  progeny.     Her  ardent  dis- 
position is  reported  to  have  led  her  through  many  vicissi- 
tudes, matrimonial  and  otherwise.     On  one  occasion  it 
led  her  to  scratch  out  the  eyes  of  another  habituee  of  the 
green,  over  some  matter  of  mulberries.     It  is  a  proof  of 
the  reasonableness  of  justice  among  us  that  when  con- 
demned to  a  brief  term  of  imprisonment  she  first  suc- 
ceeded in  postponing  the  execution  of  the  sentence,  I  be- 
lieve through  some  expectation  of  presenting  the  happy 
water-carrier  with  a  new  chocolate-cream,  and  then  in 
causing  her  term  to  be  subdivided,  alternately  languish- 
ing in  dungeons  and  enjoying  the  society  of  her  family 
until  she  had  paid  the  full  penalty  of  the  law. 

A  larger,  the  true  centre  of  our  municipal  life,  is  the 
charshi,  or  market-place.  Very  notable,  to  the  mind  of 
one  admirer,  is  ours  among  market-places.  My  admira- 
tion is  always  divided  between  that  crooked  street  of  it, 
darkened  by  jutting  upper  stories  that  sometimes  actu- 


396      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

ally   jump   across   it,   wherein   are   situate   the   principal 
shops,  the  minor  cafes,  a  fountain  or  two,  and  the  public 
bath,  and  that  adjoining  portion  of  it  which  lies  open  to 
the  sea.     The  latter  certainly  offers  the  most  facilities 
for  the  enjoyment  of  life.     Indeed,  one  end  of  it  is  chiefly 
given  up  to  a  Company  for  the  Promotion  of  Happiness 
—  if  one   may  so  translate   its  Turkish   name  —  whose 
English  steamers  carry  us  to  town,  seven  miles  away, 
or  to  the  upper  Bosphorus,  as  quickly,  as  regularly,  and 
as  comfortably  as  any  compan\-  I   know.     It  also  does 
much   to   promote   the   happiness   of  those  who  do   not 
travel,  through  the  sociable  employees  of  its  wharf  and 
by  affording  a  picturesque  va  et  vient  at  almost  any  hour 
of  the  day.     I  fear,  however,  that  it  does  less  to  promote 
the  happiness  of  the  boatmen  who  await  custom  at  the 
adjacent  w^ooden  quay.     They  wait  in  those  trim  little 
skiffs,  so  much  neater  than  anything  of  the  sort  we  see 
for  hire  at  home,  which  have  almost  superseded  caiques 
because  they   hold   more  passengers  with  greater  com- 
fort.    And  to  one  w^ho  observes  how  much  of  the  time 
they  do  wait,  and  how^  modestly  they  are  remunerated 
for  their  occasional  excursions,  it  is  a  miracle  how  they 
contrive  to  live.     There  is  no  fixed  tariff.     If  you  know 
the  ropes  you  pay  two  and  a  half  piastres,  some  twelve 
cents,  to  be  rowed  across  the  Bosphorus  or  to  the  next 
village.     For  ten  they  will  take  you  almost  anywhere. 
But   they   eke   out   their   incomes   by   fishing.     We   are 
famous  for  our  lobsters  at  Roumeli  Hissar. 

The  boatmen,  and  others  with  them,  often  prefer  to 
wait  in  certain  agreeable  resorts  along  that  same  wooden 
platform.  The  first  of  these  is  the  cafe  of  the  Arme- 
nian, whose  corner  rakes  the  Company  for  the  Promo- 
tion of  Happiness.  He  profits  thereby  not  a  little,  for 
when  we  wish  to  take  a  steamer  we  do  not  always  trouble 


A   TURKISH   VILLAGE 


397 


ourselves  to  look  up  the  time-table  beforehand.  The 
Armenian  is  also  a  barber,  and  in  his  low-ceiled  room 
of  many  windows  you  may  hear,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  banging  backgammon  boards,  the  choicest  of  conver- 
sation. The  only  thing  I  have  against  him  is  that  I 
have  to  pay  twice  as  much  for  my  coffee  as  a  customer 
who  wears  a  girdle  and  a  fez. 


The  village  boatmen  and  their  skiffs 

A  few  doors  away  dwell  the  Albanians.  You  may 
know  them  by  the  gay  stockings,  red  embroidered  with 
gold,  which  they  wear  outside  the  tight  white  trousers 
of  their  country.  Theirs  is  the  dispensary  of  ice-cream 
in  summer  and  of  mahalihi  in  winter — the  latter  being 
a  kind  of  corn-starch  pudding  sprinkled  with  sugar  and 
rose-water.  These  comestibles,  of  which  their  people 
have  a  practical  monopoly,  they  also  peddle  about  the 
streets.  But  it  is  better  to  partake  of  them  in  their 
shop,   surrounded    by    lithographic    royalties  and   battle 


398      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

scenes  of  1870;  and  best  of  all  in  front  of  it,  sitting  com- 
fortably in  a  rush-bottomed  chair  while  the  never-ending 
diorama  of  the  Bosphorus  rolls  by. 

In  suggestive  proximity  to  this  establishment  is  a 
Greek  drug  store.  It  might  be  Venetian,  so  impregnate 
is  it  with  the, sound  and  light  of  water.  For  situation, 
however,  I  never  saw  its  equal  in  Venice.  It  has,  indeed 
—  especially  when  late  sunlight  warms  the  opposite 
shore  —  so  perfect  a  view,  the  platform  in  front  of  it  is 
so  favourite  a  resort,  the  legend  "La  Science  est  Longue, 
mais  la  Vie  Courte  "  curls  with  such  levity  about  a  painted 
Hippocrates  within,  that  the  place  rather  gives  you  the 
impression  of  an  operatic  drug  store.  The  polyglot 
youth  in  charge  of  it  stands  at  the  door  exactly  as  if  he 
were  w^aiting  for  the  chorus  on  the  stage  outside  to  give 
him  his  cue;  and  you  cannot  help  asking  yourself  whether 
there  be  anything  in  the  porcelain  jars  about  him. 

I  have  spoken  with  unbridled  admiration  of  our 
market-place  and  its  two  main  branches.  How  shall  I 
now  speak  admiringly  enough  of  the  square  with  which 
they  both  communicate  and  which  unites  in  itself  the 
richness  of  their  charms?  It  is  not  a  square  in  any 
geometric  sense.  It  Js  a  broad  stone  quay  of  irregular 
width,  tree-shaded,  awning-hung,  festooned  with  vines 
and  fish-nets,  adorned  of  a  flat-topped  fountain  whose 
benches  are  a  superior  place  of  contemplation,  bordered 
by  a  quaintly  broken  architecture  of  shops,  cafes,  and 
dwellings,  and  watched  upon  by  a  high  white  minaret. 
It  is  not  subject  to  the  intermittent  bustle  of  the  Com- 
pany for  the  Promotion  of  Happiness,  but  it  carries  on 
its  own  more  deliberate  and  more  picturesque  activities. 
Here  commerce  goes  forward,  both  settled  and  itinerant, 
with  loud  and  leisurely  bargaining.  Here  the  kantarji 
exercises  his  function  of  weighing  the  freights  unloaded 


A  TURKISH   VILLAGE  399 

by  the  picture-book  boats  at  the  quay.  The  head- 
quarters of  one  of  them  is  here,  in  a  deep  arch  over  the 
water.  This  is  the  bazaar  caique,  that  goes  early  in  the 
morning  to  the  Golden  Horn  for  the  transport  of  such 


In  the  market-place 

freight  and  passengers  as  do  not  care  to  patronise  the  more 
expensive  Company  for  the  Promotion  of  Happiness  — 
a  huge  rowboat  with  an  incurving  beak  and  a  high  stern, 
to  pull  whose  oars  the  rowers  drop  from  their  feet  to  their 
backs.  And  here  is  also  the  headquarters  of  the  hamals, 
most  indispensable  of  men.  These  are  Asiatic  peasants 
who  combine  with  manv  others  the  offices  of  carts  and 


400      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

carters  in  flatter  towns.  They  carry  our  furniture  and 
fuel  from  the  water  on  their  backs.  They  chop  our  wood, 
to  saw  it  being  what  they  refuse.  They  keep  guard  of 
our  houses  when  we  go  away.  They  patrol  our  streets 
at  night,  knocking  the  hour  with  their  clubs  on  the  pave- 
ment and  rousing  us  with  blood-curdling  yells  if  so  much 
as  a  hen-coop  burn  down  at  the  Islands  twenty  miles 
away.  They  likewise  act  as  town  criers;  and  during  the 
holy  month  of  Ramazan  they  beat  us  up  with  drums 
early  enough  in  the  morning  to  be  through  breakfast  by 
the  time  you  can  tell  a  black  hair  from  a  white.  They 
are  a  strong,  a  faithful,  even  —  if  you  choose  to  expend 
a  little  sentiment  upon  them  —  a  pathetic  race,  living  in 
exile  without  wife  or  child,  sending  money  home  as  they 
earn  it,  going  to  their  "countries"  only  at  long  intervals, 
and  settling  there  when  they  are  too  old  to  work  for  their 
guild. 

Altogether  a  man  might  spend  his  days  in  that  square 
and  be  the  better  for  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  surprising 
number  of  us  fmd  it  possible  to  do  so,  sipping  coffee, 
smoking  cigarettes  or  water-pipes,  and  w^atching  life 
slip  by  on  the  strong  blue  current  of  the  Bosphorus. 
And  as  I  sit  there  too,  treated  always  with  a  charming 
courtliness  yet  somehow  made  to  feel  the  vanity  of  thank- 
ing God  that  I  am  not  as  other  gyaours  are,  I  often  ask 
myself  how  these  things  may  be.  In  other  parts  of  the 
world  people  enjoy  no  such  leisure  unless  they  have  rents 
or  an  indifference  as  to  going  to  destruction.  In  Rou- 
meli  Hissar  we  neither  go  to  destruction  nor  have  rents. 
The  case  may  be  connected  with  the  theory  that  all  in- 
habitants of  Constantinople  are  guests  of  its  ruler.  We 
are  not  subject  to  military  duty,  we  are  exempt  from 
certain  burdens  of  taxation,  and  other  inducements  are 
offered  those  of  the  true  faith  to  settle  in  the  City  of  the 


A  TURKISH   VILLAGE  401 

Sultans.  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  how  persuasive 
these  may  be,  but  it  is  astonishing  how  overwhelming 
a  proportion  of  the  less  skilled  labour  of  the  place  is  per- 
formed by  outsiders  —  witness  the  Greek  shopkeepers  of 
our  village,  the  Albanian  sweet  vendors,  and  the  hainals. 
The  case  at  all  events  is  not  without  its  charm.  We  may 
not  accomphsh  great  things  in  the  world.  We  may  not 
perform  memorable  services  for  state  or  humanity.  We 
may  not  create  works  that  shall  carry  our  names  down  the 
generations.  But  we  live.  We  enjoy  the  sun,  we  taste 
each  other's  society,  and  we  are  little  troubled  for  the 
morrow.     Could  life  be  more? 


XIV 

REVOLUTION 

1908 

Constantinople  is  finished!  So  a  reactionary  im- 
pressionist groaned  to  himself  on  a  certain  summer  day 
—  to  be  precise,  on  the  24th  of  July,  1908  — when  the 
amazing  truth  became  known  that  the  constitution,  sup- 
pressed thirty-tw^o  years  before,  had  been  re-estabhshed. 
Constitutions  were  w^ell  enough  in  their  place,  but  their 
place  was  not  Constantinople.  A  Constantinople  at 
whose  gate  your  Shakespeare  was  not  taken  from  you 
as  being  a  perilous  and  subversive  book,  a  Constantinople 
through  whose  custom-house  you  could  not  bribe  your 
way,  a  Constantinople  which  you  might  explore  ungreeted 
by  a  derisive  ''Gyaour  /"  or  a  casual  stone,  a  Constanti- 
nople of  mosques  open  to  the  infidel  without  money  and 
without  price,  a  Constantinople  wherein  you  w^re  free 
to  walk  at  night  without  a  lantern,  a  Constantinople  in- 
different to  passports  or  to  ladies'  veils,  a  Constantinople 
where  it  was  possible  to  paint  in  the  streets,  to  meet  and 
see  off  steamers,  to  post  a  local  letter  —  and,  what  is 
more,  receive  one  —  a  Constantinople  without  a  censor, 
a  spy,  or  a  dog,  might  be  a  Constantinople  of  a  kind; 
but  it  would  not  be  the  true  Constantinople.  It  could 
never  be  the  impenetrable  old  Constantinople  that  lent  a 
certain  verisimilitude  to  stories  like  "Paul  Patoff "  and 
made  it  possible  for  a  romantic  Gladstone  to  be  taken 

402 


REVOLUTION  403 

seriously  at  his  most  romantic  moments.  Violated  of  its 
mystery,  laid  open  to  the  deadly  levelling  of  Western 
civilisation,  what  could  save  it  from  becoming  a  Con- 
stantinople of  straight  streets,  of  pseudo-classic  architec- 
ture, of  glaring  lights,  of  impatient  tram  and  telephone 
bells,  of  the  death-deahng  motors  that  Abd  iil  Hamid 
would  never  allow,  of  the  terrible  tourists  —  the  German 
Liebespaar,  the  British  old  maid,  the  American  mother 
and  daughter  —  who  insist  on  making  one  place  exactly 
like  another? 

Well,  the  Constantinople  of  a  reactionary  impression- 
ist is  finished.  A  good  deal  of  it  vanished  by  magic  on 
the  night  of  the  revolution.  Of  the  outward  and  visible 
remainder  more  has  disappeared  already  than  an  outsider 
might  suppose.  The  dogs  and  the  beggars  went  very 
soon,  followed  by  the  worst  of  the  cobblestones  and  the 
bumpy  old  bridge  that  every  traveller  wrote  a  chapter 
about;  and  when  I  took  a  httle  journey  in  the  world 
after  this  process  was  well  started  it  struck  me  that  the 
streets  of  Paris  and  New  York  were  less  clean  than  those 
of  Stamboul.  As  for  the  censor  and  the  spies,  if  they 
still  exist  it  is  in  a  tempered  form.  In  the  meantime  the 
telephones,  the  motors,  the  dynamos  so  redoubted  by 
Abd  iil  Hamid,  have  made  their  appearance.  And  with 
them  has  come  a  terrifying  appetite  for  civic  improve- 
ment. The  mosaics  of  Justinian  are  about  to  be  hghted 
by  electricity.  Boulevards  have  been  cut  through  Stam- 
boul. Old  Turkish  houses  have  been  torn  down  by  the 
hundred  in  the  interests  of  street  widening.  Only  a 
miracle  saved  the  city  walls  from  being  sold  as  building 
material.  I  could  wish  that  the  edifices  encumbering 
the  sphendone  of  the  Hippodrome  might  be  sold  as  build- 
ing material,  in  order  to  give  back  to  the  city  its  supreme 
ornament   of  a  sea  view.     Imagine   what  such   a  w^ide 


404       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

blue  vision  might  be,  seen  from  the  heart  of  the  town  — 
perhaps  through  a  dark-green  semicircle  of  cypresses! 
In  the  meantime  the  Hippodrome  has  been  made  to 
blossom,  not  quite  as  the  rose,  depriving  Stamboul  of  its 
one  good  square  and  threatening  to  hide  the  beauty  of 
Sultan  Ahmed's  marble  mosque.  If  the  new  gardens 
also  do  something  to  hide  the  Byzantino-Germanico- 
Turkish  fountain  which  William  II,  in  remembrance  of 
a  memorable  visit,  had  the  courage  to  erect  in  line  with 
the  obelisk  of  Theodosius  and  the  twisted  serpents  of 
Platsea,  they  will  not  have  been  planted  altogether  in 
vain.  But  direr  changes  still  have  the  people  of  Con- 
stantinople witnessed  since  their  revolution  night  —  fire, 
pestilence,  earthquake,  mutiny,  war.  They  have  even 
lived  to  hear,  from  streets  of  something  less  than  sweet 
security,  the  nearing  thunder  of  cannon,  and  to  ask  them- 
selves if  the  supreme  change  were  at  hand,  and  Constan- 
tinople itself  was  to  go. 

Of  all  these  things  more  has  been  written  than  is 
profitable  to  read.  It  is  still  too  soon  to  know  very 
much  about  the  Young  Turks  —  their  real  leaders,  their 
real  motives,  their  real  aims,  their  real  accomplishment. 
It  is  fairly  safe  to  conclude,  however,  that  they  were 
neither  the  demigods  acclaimed  in  1908  as  the  saviours 
of  their  country  nor  the  rascals  execrated  as  its  destroy- 
ers in  191 2.  They  were,  in  all  likelihood,  men  neither 
better  nor  w^orse  than  the  rest  of  us,  who  found  their 
country  in  an  evil  case  and  who  for  no  shameful  reason 
lacked  the  knowledge  and  the  power  to  make  it  an  earthly 
paradise.  Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  history  will  give  them 
credit  for  breaking  the  spell  of  Abd  ul  Hamid,  that 
strange  and  tragic  figure  of  myth  who  struggled  to  keep 
the  thirteenth  century  alive  in  the  twentieth.  Nor  do 
I  see  how  they  could  have  matched  him  otherwise  than 


REVOLUTION  405 

as  they  did,  with  his  own  weapon  of  secrecy.  And  what- 
ever their  subsequent  mistakes  may  have  been,  it  also 
seems  to  me  that  history  will  absolve  them  from  much  of 
the  reproach  of  losing  their  European  empire.  No  one 
can  fairly  blame  them  for  wishing  to  make  the  Turk  the 
dominant  element  in  his  own  empire,  and  for  wishing  to 
make  that  empire  independent  of  the  foreigner.  Neither 
they  nor  any  one  else,  moreover,  could  in  the  long  run 
have  saved  their   European  provinces.     It   is   a  serious 


Badge  of  the  revolution:  "Liberty,  Justice,  Fraternity,  Equality 


question  whether  they  will  succeed  in  saving  certain  of 
their  provinces  that  remain  —  or  whether  their  own 
good  advises  them  to  do  so.  There  are  influences  of 
common  blood  and  common  tradition  which  no  mere 
political  influence  can  indefinitely  withstand.  In  any 
case,  I  have  come  to  look  upon  the  Turkish  revolution 
with  other  than  the  eye  of  a  reactionary  impressionist. 
It  would  be  a  reactionary  impressionist  indeed  who  put 
the  picturesqueness  of  Stamboul  before  the  good  of  a 
people  —  and  a  bhnd  one  who  failed  to  see  what  there 
was  of  human  colour  in  those  dramatic  events.  And 
although  time  has  only  partially  fulfilled  so  many  gener- 
ous hopes,  or  has  turned  them  to  bitterness,  I  refuse  to 
believe  that  they  were  totally  insincere.  I  shall  always 
count  it,  on  the  contrary,  among  the  most  enlarging  ex- 
periences of  my  life  to  have  been  in  Constantinople  in 
1908,  and  to  have  seen  a  people  at  one  of  those  rare 
moments  when  it  reallv  lives. 


4o6      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

It  is  strange  to  recall,  in  the  light  of  all  that  has  hap- 
pened since,  how  silently  that  momentous  change  an- 
nounced itself.  We  knew  that  there  were  disturbances 
in  Macedonia;  but  there  were  always  disturbances  in 
Macedonia.  We  gathered  that  there  were  dissensions  at 
the  Palace,  for  on  the  very  day  of  his  decoration  by 
William  II  with  the  Black  Eagle,  Ferid  Pasha,  the  Al- 
banian Grand  Vizier,  fell.  But  there  were  usually  dis- 
sensions at  the  Palace.  And  when,  two  days  later,  we 
read  at  the  top  of  our  morning  papers  a  bare  official  an- 
nouncement that  the  constitution  had  been  re-established, 
that  long-suspended  constitution,  the  promise  of  which 
had  brought  Abd  iil  Hamid  to  the  throne,  we  asked  each 
other  what  it  meant.  Apparently  no  one  could. tell  — 
least  of  all  the  diplomats  supposed  to  sit  at  the  fountain- 
heads  of  information.  The  most  frequent  conjecture  was 
of  a  trick  to  gain  time.  It  was  only  later  that  rumours 
began  to  run  about,  in  the  true  Constantinople  way,  of 
the  revolt  of  Macedonia;  of  the  telegrams  exchanged  be- 
tween Salonica  and  Yildiz,  and  the  memorable  night 
council  at  which  Abd  iil  Hamid,  fainting  with  exhaus- 
tion and  rage,  acknowledged  himself  beaten  at  last;  of 
the  mysterious  Committee  of  Union  and  Progress  that 
had  performed  the  miracle,  and  of  the  men  who  had  gone 
about  the  country,  disguised  as  pedlers  and  dervishes, 
feeding  the  hunger  for  liberty  and  the  courage  to  demand 
it,  and  of  the  women  who  carried  messages  from  harem  to 
harem  and  so  delivered  them  without  writing,  and  of  the 
revolutionary  circles  that  flourished  under  the  eyes  of 
spies,  subordinate  to  the  larger  circles  of  Constantinople, 
Salonica,  and  Paris,  wherein  only  one  or  two  members 
knew  of  the  definite  existence  of  another  circle,  and  then 
of  only  one  or  two  of  its  members. 

When  the  lancers  rode  through  the  streets  that  Friday 


REVOLUTION  407 

morning  of  the  24th  of  July  to  guard  the  Sultan  on  his 
way  to  mosque,  a  few  Greeks  cheered  them.  The  sol- 
diers looked  uneasy.  Such  a  thing  had  never  happened 
to  them.  That  afternoon  a  few  shopkeepers  hung  out 
their  flags.  The  poHce  went  about  zealously  taking 
down  the  off'enders'  names.  By  the  next  day,  however, 
the  police  gave  up  trying  to  keep  track  of  the  flags. 
The  whole  city  flapped  with  them.  And  other  strange 
manifestations  took  place.  Music  marched  through  the 
streets.  Orators  sprang  up  at  every  corner.  News- 
papers quadrupled  their  editions  and  burst  into  extras 
at  the  novelty  of  containing  news.  Hawkers  everywhere 
sold  long  red  badges  bearing  golden  words  that  it  had 
been  forbidden  to  utter  —  Liberty,  Justice,  Equahty, 
Fraternity.  It  was  as  if  a  cover  had  suddenly  been 
taken  ofl.  For  thirty  years  this  people  had  been  kept  in 
constantly  closer  restriction,  had  hved  under  the  eyes  of 
that  vast  army  of  informers  from  which  they  were  not 
safe  even  within  their  own  doors,  had  been  robbed  one 
by  one  of  afl  the  httle  Hberties  of  life  so  common  in  other 
countries  that  we  think  nothing  of  them  —  to  visit  one's 
friends,  to  gather  for  amusement  or  discussion,  to  read 
the  book  of  one's  choice,  to  publish  one's  sentiment  or 
protest,  to  go  out  at  night,  to  travel  at  wifl.  Hundreds 
of  thousands  had  grown  up  to  man's  estate  knowing  no 
other  manner  of  Hfe.  And  from  one  day  to  another  they 
were  told  that  it  was  ah  at  an  end  —  that  they  were  free. 
Was  it  any  wonder  that  at  first  they  were  dazed?  Was 
it  not  rather  a  wonder  that  they  did  not  lose  their  heads? 
The  natural  goodness  and  peaceableness  of  a  race 
that  has  been  accounted  one  of  butchers  could  have  had 
no  more  triumphant  proof  than  those  trying  days  when 
the  whole  machinery  of  government  was  disorganised. 
But  of  the  sanguinary  scenes  that  have  marked  other  rev- 


4o8      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

olutions  there  were  none.  In  Salonica,  to  be  sure,  where 
the  constitution  was  proclaimed  one  day  earher,  a  pohce- 
man  was  shot  for  tearing  down  the  proclamation.  Ten 
notorious  spies  were  also  shot  in  honour  of  the  date. 
Their  comrades  had  the  Juhan  calendar  to  thank  that 
the  number  was  not  twenty-three!  In  Broussa  another 
spy,  the  infamous  Fehim  Pasha  of  Constantinople,  was 
killed  by  a  crowd  he  unwisely  went  out  of  his  way  to  in- 
sult. In  the  capital,  however,  although  the  Stamboul 
troops  were  ready  to  occupy  Pera  and  cut  off  Yildiz,  ex- 
treme measures  proved  unnecessary.  The  moderation  of 
the  revohitionists,  the  astuteness  of  the  Sultan,  and  the 
character  of  the  people  combined  to  make  the  affair  pass 
off  without  bloodshed.  If  it  had  not  been  for  foreigners 
employed  in  some  of  the  pubhc  services,  who  promptly 
set  about  fomenting  strikes,  nothing  would  have  occurred 
to  disturb  the  peace.  Zeki  Pasha,  it  is  true,  the  man 
who  would  have  repeated  the  Bloody  Sunday  of  St. 
Petersburg,  had  his  windows  smashed.  Otherwise  the 
hostility  of  the  people  toward  the  "ringleaders  of  the  old 
regime  restricted  itself  to  cartoons  of  the  most  primitive 
drawing  and  satire,  which  had  an  enormous  sale  in  the 
streets  and  which  were  ultimately  suppressed  by  the 
Committee  of  Union  and  Progress.  The  Committee  sed- 
ulously fostered  the  belief  that  the  real  author  of  the 
Hamidian  regime  had  merely  been  the  victim  of  his 
advisers. 

The  Bloody  Sunday  which  might  have  been  was  the 
Sunday  after  the  coup  d'etat,  when  all  day  long  deputa- 
tion after  deputation  marched  up  to  the  Palace  in  the 
July  sun,  until  a  hundred  thousand  fezzes  and  turbans 
packed  the  avenues  of  approach.  They  had  been  the 
day  before  to  each  of  the  ministers  in  turn,  demanding 
their    oaths   to    maintain   the    constitution.     They    now 


REVOLUTION  409 

came  to  the  Sultan,  loyal  and  unarmed,  but  asking  from 
him  too  an  assurance  that  he  would  not  a  second  time 
withdraw  the  instrument  which  he  had  been  the  first  of 
his  hne  to  promulgate.  The  Palace  guards  did  not  resist, 
but  within  was  such  terror  as  those  without  had  never 
dreamed  of  inspiring.  The  Sultan,  always  chary  of  his 
person,  uncertain  as  to  the  designs  of  a  mob  the  Hke  of 
which  he  had  never  seen  before,  refused  to  show  himself. 
He  merely  sent  messages  to  the  people  and  begged  them 
to  disperse.  They  would  not.  Then  Zeki  Pasha,  Grand 
Master  of  Artillery,  asked  leave  to  clear  the  crowd  away 
—  with  his  cannon.  Fortunately,  most  fortunately,  the 
old  martinet's  advice  was  not  taken.  But  still  the  Sul- 
tan did  not  appear.  Finally,  late  in  the  evening,  the  last 
deputation  of  all  arrived.  It  was  composed  of  the  more 
enhghtened  element  of  the  population  and  contained 
members  of  the  Committee.  Like  those  who  had  preceded 
them,  they  respectfully  asked  to  see  his  majesty.  They 
were  told  that  his  majesty  had  retired.  They  insisted, 
with  what  arguments  one  may  never  know.  And  at  last, 
near  midnight,  his  majesty  appeared  on  a  balcony  of  the 
Palace  and  asked  the  people  what  they  wished.  They, 
amid  frantic  demonstrations  of  loyalty,  said  that  they 
wished  to  see  the  imperial  master  who  had  so  long  been 
kept  from  them  by  traitors,-  and  to  hear  him  swear  fealty 
to  his  own  constitution.  He  replied:  "My  children,  be 
certain  that  I  shall  shrink  before  no  sacrifice  for  your 
happiness.  Henceforth  your  future  is  assured.  I  will 
work  with  you  in  common  accord.  Live  as  brothers.  I 
am  overcome  by  the  sentiments  of  devotion  and  grati- 
tude which  you  show.  Return  to  your  homes  and  take 
your  rest."  This  speech,  characteristic  of  its  maker's 
adroitness,  satisfied  the  thousands  who  did  not  hear  it, 
and  they  went  away. 


410      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

It  did  not  satisfy  the  instigators  of  the  demonstration, 
who  later  obliged  the  Sultan  to  make  the  desired  oath  on 
the  Koran.  It  was  his  only  chance  to  save  his  throne. 
But  bitter  as  his  surrender  doubtless  was,  he  must  have 
had  moments  of  compensation.  One  of  them  occurred  on 
the  succeeding  Friday,  when  a  hundred  thousand  people 
gathered  again  to  see  him  go  to  mosque.  Hours  before 
the  time  of  the  ceremony  the  precincts  of  the  Palace  were 
invaded,  and  hamals  kicked  their  heels  from  the  edge  of 
the  terrace  reserved  for  visitors  with  cards  from  their 
embassies.  A  great  tree  near  the  mosque  was  so  full  of 
men  and  boys  that  two  or  three  branches  cracked  off. 
When  the  imperial  cortege  came  down  from  the  Palace 
there  was  such  cheering  as  Abd  til  Hamid,  accustomed 
to  the  perfunctory  " Padishah' m  chok  yashal''  of  his 
guard,  could  scarcely  have  heard  before.  The  monarch 
who  all  his  hfe  had  been  most  afraid  of  bombs  and 
bullets  may  never  have  been  so  nervous,  but  he  stood 
up  hke  a  man,  saluting  his  people  with  the  red-and-white 
rosette  of  the  constitution  pinned  to  his  shoulder.  They 
responded  in  a  frenzy  of  emotion,  tears  streaming  from 
many  of  their  eyes.  After  returning  to  the  Palace  the 
Sultan  showed  himself  again  at  a  balcony  and  spoke  a  few 
words.  Could  there  have  been  only  terror  for  him  in  the 
joyful  shouting  of  a  mob  that  would  have  torn  an  assassin 
to  shreds?  Could  he  have  seen  there  only  enemies  who 
had  overcome  him  by  the  brute  force  of  numbers?  Could 
he  have  felt  only  the  irony  of  his  undoing  by  the  very 
schools  he  had  created,  by  the  very  means  he  had  taken 
to  stamp  out  individual  Kberty? 

There  may  be  question  as  to  whether  any  real  gener- 
ous impulse,  any  true  glimmer  of  repentance,  visited  that 
old  Hon  at  bay.  But  there  can  be  none  as  to  the  temper 
of  the  crowds  that  marched  about  the  streets  for  days 


REVOLUTION  411 

with  flags  and  music,  cheering  the  army  that  had  freed 
them,  cheering  the  Sultan  who,  they  said,  had  been  kept 
from  them  by  traitors,  cheering  the  orators  who  told  them 
again  and  again  of  their  happiness  and  assured  them  that 
thenceforward  in  the  Ottoman  Empire  there  was  no  dis- 
tinction between  Armenian,  Greek,  Jew,  and  Turk:  all 
were  Ottomans,  all  were  brothers,  ah  were  free.  It  was, 
of  course,  too  good  to  be  true.  Yet,  even  in  the  light  of 
subsequent  history, -I  persist  in  remembering  those  days 
as  a  little  golden  age  which  no  one  was  the  worse  for 
having  known.  A  carriage  wheel  was  crushed  in  the 
press.  The  hat  —  or  should  one  say  the  fez?  —  was  in- 
stantly passed  around,  and  the  happy  Jehu  was  given  the 
wherewithal  to  buy  fifty  new  wheels.  A  shop-window, 
again,  was  accidentally  broken.  The  shopkeeper  pres- 
ently had  reason  to  wish  that  the  crowd  would  break  a 
window  every  day.  Ladies  who  never  before  would  have 
dared  go  alone  through  certain  streets,  or  through  any 
street  at  certain  hours,  went  unmolested  when  and  where 
they  chose.  Races  that  had  lived  under  an  armed  truce, 
and  not  always  that,  suddenly  fell  on  each  other's  necks. 
A  cold-hearted  impressionist  more  than  once  found  it  in 
him  to  smile  at  respectable  old  gentlemen  who  insisted 
on  kissing  fervent  young  orators  on  both  cheeks.  And 
when  priests  of  different  religions  exchanged  such  saKites 
it  w^as  even  more  a  case  of  the  Hon  lying  down  with  the 
lamb. 

The  scattering  of  the  Palace  camarilla  was  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  of  the  many  picturesque  events  of  the 
day.  The  true  story  of  those  precious  rascals  is  a  piece 
of  the  Middle  Ages  —  or  of  the  flourishing  days  of  New 
York.  Some  of  them  were  ministers,  some  chamberlains 
and  secretaries,  one  of  them  no  more  than  an  Arab 
astrologer,  who  gained  immense  credit  during  the  Greek 


412       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

war  of  1897  by  holding  over  telegrams  and  prophesying 
their  contents  to  the  Sultan.  Without  this  star-chamber 
nothing  was  done  in  the  empire.  The  council  of  minis- 
ters sat  at  the  Sublime  Porte,  but  the  true  cabinet  sat 
secretly  in  Yildiz  Palace.  If  the  Grand  Vizier  did  not 
happen  to  belong  to  it,  so  much  the  worse  for  him.     He 


Cartoon  representing  the  exodus  of  the  Palace  camarilla 


must  be  prepared  to  see  his  orders  countermanded  and 
his  promises  rendered  void.  It  was  always  possible  to 
obtain  such  a  result.  Those  who  knew  the  ropes  knew 
the  department  of  each  member  of  the  kitchen  cabinet, 
and  his  price.  For  that  matter  they  were  willing  to  be 
accommodating.  They  took  from  each  according  to  his 
means.  And  they  were  not  too  proud  to  be  known  as 
the  kehayas  of  the  industrial  guilds.     One  accepted  two 


REVOLUTION  413 

hundred  pounds  a  month  from  the  butchers  of  Constan- 
tinople, in  return  for  leniency  in  the  matter  of  inspection. 
Another  received  a  handsome  allowance  from  the  cor- 
poration of  bakers,  who  were  also  obliged  to  subsidise 
the  police  in  order  to  prevent  the  seizure  of  undersized 
loaves  from  being  too  serious.  A  third  drew  a  dollar  for 
every  bag  of  flour  that  came  into  the  city.  I  even  heard 
of  a  pasha  who  allowed  his  kitchens  to  be  supphed  with 
butter  by  a  Kiirdishr  chief.  There  was  no  possible  source 
of  revenue  which  these  men  had  not  tapped  —  public 
funds,  private  enterprises,  the  distribution  of  places,  the 
granting  of  concessions.  It  mattered  nothing  to  them 
that  the  country  was  going  to  ruin,  the  development  of 
its  incalculable  resources  stopped,  so  long  as  they  built 
great  palaces  on  the  Bosphorus  and  fared  sumptuously 
every  day. 

The  constitution  took  them  more  completely  than 
any  by  surprise.  Accustomed  to  the  variable  cHmate  of 
the  court,  they  were  prepared  to  fall  from  favour,  to  be 
exiled,  or  even  to  lose  their  lives.  But  they  were  not 
prepared  for  this.  Not  many  of  them  were  quick  enough 
to  grasp  the  situation.  The  first  to  do  so  was  Selim  Pasha 
Melhameh,  a  Syrian.  As  Minister  of  Agriculture,  Mines, 
and  Forests  he  was  in  the  way  of  getting  good  things 
from  people  who  wanted  concessions.  His  already  com- 
fortable fortune  was  agreeably  increased  during  his  last 
winter  in  office  by  a  scarcity  of  fuel  that  caused  great 
misery  among  the  poor  of  the  capitaL  An  imperial 
order  was  issued  to  bring  down  wood  from  the  forests  of 
the  interior  and  sell  it  at  a  fixed  price.  The  wood  was 
brought  down  and  the  price  fixed  —  by  Selim  Pasha. 
He  is  said  to  have  been  absent  from  the  all-night  council 
at  which  the  constitution  was  granted.  At  first  he  would 
not  believe  the  news,  but  when  proof  was  given  him  he 


414       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

called  for  his  wife  and  told  her  to  pack  at  once.  She  did 
so  with  such  expedition  that  three  days  later,  borrowing 
the  Itahan  embassy  launch  on  the  pretext  of  seeing  off 
their  son,  who  was  going  to  his  post  in  the  Turkish  em- 
bassy at  Rome,  they  sailed  on  the  steamer  with  him. 

The  next  to  leave  was  the  notorious  Izzet  Pasha,  the 
Sultan's  first  chamberlain.  There  was  a  mediaeval  char- 
acter for  you  —  that  perfect  gentleman  and  connoisseur, 
descended  from  robber  Bedouins  beyond  Damascus,  who 
became  the  greatest  robber  in  the  empire.  He  robbed 
so  shamelessly,  he  robbed  so  amusingly,  that  an  irrespon- 
sible impressionist  cannot  help  investing  him  with  a 
romantic  interest.  When  the  coup  d'etat  took  place,  his 
Syrian  wit  told  him  that  a  country  he  had  plundered  for 
years  was  no  longer  the  country  for  him.  He  accordingly 
bought  for  eight  thousand  pounds,  in  the  name  of  a 
French  lady,  a  small  Greek  passenger  steamer  worth 
some  fifteen  hundred,  and  prepared  to  decamp.  When 
the  captain  learned  the  identity  of  his  new  owner  he  re- 
fused to  serve  him.  Rather  than  excite  suspicion  by 
drumming  up  another  crew%  Izzet  proceeded  to  buy  an- 
other steamer,  this  time  under  the  British  flag.  Having 
been  bitten  once,  he  stipulated  that  the  owners  should 
be  paid  in  three  instalments  —  two  thousand  pounds 
down,  fifteen  hundred  when  he  should  get  away,  by  cash 
deposited  with  a  third  party,  and  fifteen  hundred  more 
from  his  first  port  of  call.  When  the  owners  presented 
their  cheque  for  two  thousand  pounds  at  Izzet  Pasha's 
bank  they  were  informed  that  the  latter  had  withdraw^n 
his  account.  Izzet  Pasha  expressed  infinite  regret  at 
the  mistake,  and  courteously  wrote  out  a  second  cheque 
on  a  bank  from  which  he  had  withdrawn  his  account. 
Before  the  owners  had  time  to  present  that  Izzet  Pasha, 
boarding  his  steamer  from  the  German  embassy  launch 


REVOLUTION  4^5 

and  a  series  of  tugs,   had  got  away  with  three  of  his 
four  wives,  in  spite  of  the  crowd  that  shook  their  fists 
after   him   from   Galata   quay.     At   the   Dardanelles   he 
was  stopped.     And   perhaps   the   most  novel  of  all   his 
experiences  was  to  see  a  handful  of  gold  he  gave  to  the 
ofFicer  keeping  him  under  guard  thrown  scornfully  over- 
board.    But  the  English  register  of  his  boat  and  a  com- 
mission  he   displayed,  sending   him  abroad   on   imperial 
business,  saved  his  skin.     He  was  not  heard  from  again 
till  he  turned  up  at  Genoa.     There,  telling  his  captain 
he  was  going  to  take  his  family  ashore  for  a  walk,  he  took 
ticket   for   England.     The  captain  waited  patiently  till 
there  was  nothing  left  on  board  to  eat  or  to  burn,  and 
then  he  wired  to  his  former  owners.     They  had  not  re- 
ceived their  third  payment,  but  as  the  second  was  duly 
made  and  as  they  got  their  boat  back  they  did  not  come 

off  so  badlv. 

The  rest  of  the  gang  were  not  allowed  to  escape. 
They  were  entertained  at  the  War  Department  until  they 
began  to  disgorge  gold  and  lands.  Zeki  Pasha  gave  up 
no  more  than  ten  thousand  pounds;  but  Hassan  Rami 
Pasha,  who  had  been  Minister  of  Marine  a  year,  handed 
over  some  two  hundred  thousand.  This  act  of  penance 
performed,  thev  and  their  colleagues  were  sent  to  Prin- 
kipo,  where,  under  due  surveillance,  they  were  granted 
the  'liberties  of  an  island  six  miles  in  circumference 
until  such  time  as  parliament  should   investigate  their 

In  contrast  to  the  scurrying  to  cover  of  the  old 
regime  was  the  return  of  the  exiles.  During  Abd  ul 
Hamid's  long  reign,  and  most  actively  during  the  latter 
part  of  it,  there  had  been  a  systematic  clearing  outof 
independent  personalities.  Men  who  would  not  hide 
their  disapproval  of  the  government,  who  could  not  be 


4i6      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

bought  or  silenced  in  any  other  way,  or  whom  chance 
spies  happened  to  report  on  adversely,  were  banished  to 
remote  parts  of  the  empire.  Others  fled  to  countries 
where  life  was  made  less  difficult  for  them.  Sixty  thou- 
sand exiles  are  said  to  have  left  Constantinople  alone. 
And  there  remains  the  large  number  of  those  who  were 
suppressed  in  unavowed  ways.  One  of  the  first  acts  of 
the  new  government  was  to  issue  an  amnesty  for  exiles 
and  political  prisoners.  There  consequently  set  in  an 
immediate  tide  of  return.  It  happened  that  the  old 
French  steamship  line  of  the  Messageries  Maritiines 
brought  back  most  of  the  exiles,  partly  because  many  of 
them  were  settled  in  Paris,  partly  because  of  the  sym- 
pathy of  educated  Turks  and  of  all  revolutionaries  for 
France.  So  the  arrival  of  the  Messageries  boat  became  a 
weekly  event  of  the  city.  Steamers  would  be  chartered 
to  go  down  the  Marmora,  crowds  would  blacken  the 
Galata  quay,  the  windows,  balconies,  and  roofs  over- 
looking it,  the  adjacent  shipping,  the  old  bridge,  to  wel- 
come back  with  flags,  music,  cheers,  and  frantic  whistles 
men  like  old  Deli  Fouad  Pasha,  mad  Fouad  Pasha,  who 
prevented  the  massacre  of  Armenians  in  Scutari  in  1896; 
like  the  Armenian  Patriarch  who  proved  too  intractable 
at  the  same  period;  like  young  Prince  Sabaeddin,  the  Sul- 
tan's nephew,  who  came  back  from  Paris  with  the  coffin 
of  his  fugitive  father.  But  not  all  of  these  returns  were 
joyfuL  There  were  tragic  meetings  at  the  coming  of 
men  broken  by  imprisonment  or  deadly  climates  —  as 
once  when  a  pale  figure  was  carried  from  the  ship  in  a 
chair,  amid  a  silence  that  w^as  broken  only  by  some  one 
sobbing  on  the  quay.  And  there  were  those  who  returned 
to  the  quay  every  week,  scanning  the  decks  of  arriving 
steamers  for  faces  they  never  found. 

Altogether  there  was   matter  enough  for  the  eye  of 


REVOLUTION  417 

an  impressionist  resentful  of  the  demolishing  of  his  city. 
Space  would  never  sufFice  me  to  report  the  scenes  charac- 
teristic or  picturesque,  the  stories  romantic  and  humor- 
ous, that  could  not  fail  to  mark  so  great  an  event.  The 
sudden  outburst  of  Kterary  and  dramatic  activity,  the 
movement  toward  emancipation  of  the  Turkish  women, 
the  honours  paid  by  the  Young  Turks  to  the  memory  of 
the  Armenians  massacred  in  1896,  the  visits  of  friendly 
deputations  from  B_ulgaria,  Greece,  and  Roumania,  the 
events  in  the  Balkans  and  the  Austrian  boycott,  the 
manoeuvres  of  the  reactionaries,  the  removal  of  the  Pal- 
ace guard,  the  procedure  of  the  elections,  added  each 
its  note  of  colour.  Nothing,  perhaps,  filled  the  pubhc 
eye  quite  so  obviously  as  the  primary  elections  for  parha- 
ment.  SymboHc  of  what  the  revolution  had  striven  to 
attain,  this  event  w^as  celebrated  in  each  district  with 
fitting  ceremonies.  One  district  in  Stamboul  solemnly 
brought  its  voting  urn  to  the  Sublime  Porte  on  the  back 
of  a  cameL  Five  villages  on  the  Bosphorus,  forming 
another  district,  made  a  water  pageant  that  reminded 
one  of  state  days  in  Venice.  But  the  five  great  fishing 
caiques,  with  their  splendid  in-curving  beaks,  their  high 
poops  gay  with  flags  and  traihng  rugs,  their  fourteen  to 
twenty  costumed  rowers,  were  no  imitation  of  other  days, 
like  the  Venetian  Bissojie.  ■  Alost  imposing  of  all  was  the 
procession  that  carried  the  urns  of  Pera  through  the  city 
in  decorated  court  carriages,  attended  by  music,  banners, 
soldiers,  school  children,  and  other  representative  bodies 
to  the  number  of  several  thousand.  Two  of  these  were 
peculiarly  striking.  Near  the  head  of  the  procession,  led 
by  an  Arab  on  a  camel,  rode  a  detachment  of  men  repre- 
senting the  difl"erent  races  of  the  empire,  each  in  the  cos- 
tume of  his  "country."  And  later  came  a  long  Hne  of 
carriages  in  which  imams  and  Armenian  priests,  imams 


4i8      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

and  Greek  priests,  imams  and  Catholic  priests,  imams 
and  Jewish  rabbis,  drove  two  and  two  in  the  robes  of 
their  various  cults. 

The  opening  of  parHament  itself,  with  all  the  cir- 
cumstance that  arms  and  majesty  could  lend  it,  marked 
a  term  for  those  effervescent  days.  The  Young  Turks 
made  it  a  particular  point  that  the  ceremony  of  Decem- 
ber 17  should  be  held,  not  in  the  throne-room  of  Dolma 
Ba'hcheh,  as  the  Sultan  wished,  but  in  the  place  where 
the  parliament  of  1876  had  been  dissolved.  This  Palla- 
dian  structure  behind  St.  Sophia,  originally  built  for  the 
university  and  remodelled  after  the  dissolution  of  the 
first  parliament  for  the  uses  of  the  Ministry  of  Justice, 
contained  no  hall  of  suitable  size.  There  was  not  even 
room  in  the  chamber  of  deputies  for  the  two  hundred 
odd  members  —  if  they  all  had  arrived  in  time  for  the 
opening.  The  invitations  were  consequently  restricted 
to  the  smallest  possible  number:  to  the  greater  digni- 
taries of  state,  to  the  heads  of  foreign  missions  and  their 
first  dragomans  —  leaving  out  disappointed  secretaries 
and  wives  —  and  to  a  few  representatives  of  the  press. 
There  was  perhaps  more  heartburning  among  these 
spoilt  children  of  the  century  than  among  any  other  sec- 
tion of  the  public,  ^ome  of  them  had  travelled  great 
distances  to  attend  this  historic  inauguration,  only  to  be 
shut  out  of  it.  The  press  of  the  country  naturally  had 
the  first  claim.  The  thorny  question  of  allotting  tickets 
among  the  press  of  other  countries  was  settled  by  giving 
each  head  of  a  foreign  mission  two  tickets  to  dispose  of 
as  he  chose.  Those  fortunate  enough  to  get  them  were 
inclined  to  grumble  at  the  quarters  assigned  them  —  a 
species  of  low,  dark  theatre  box  above  that  of  the  am- 
bassadors, from  which  only  the  ten  or  fifteen  first  to 
arrive  could  see  the  floor.     But  all  could  see  the  imperial 


REVOLUTION  419 

box,  directly  opposite.     And  I,  for  one,  being  no  journal- 
ist, counted  myself  lucky  to  be  there  at  all. 

The  first  arrival  of  importance  was  that  of  the  dip- 
lomatic corps,  led  by  their  formidable  German  dean, 
Baron  Marschall  von  Bieberstein.  Not  least  noticeable 
among  them  was  the  Persian  ambassador,  in  a  coat  so 
thickly  incrusted  with  gold  that  one  could  not  tell  what 
colour  it  was,  and  wide  scarlet  trousers  and  black  as- 
trakhan cap.  The  tall  charge  d'affaires  of  Montenegro 
was  also  a  striking  figure  in  the  national  dress  of  his 
country  —  loose  trousers  thrust  into  top-boots,  embroi- 
dered bolero  and  hanging  sleeves,  and  black  pill-box 
with  red  top  —  as  was  Mgr.  Sardi,  the  Apostolic  Dele- 
gate, in  his  flowing  violet  robes.  Another  splash  of  col- 
our; was  presently  made  to  the  right  of  the  tribune  by 
the  senators,  in  gala  uniform  and  decorations.  They  are 
forty  in  number,  appointed  for  life  by  the  Sultan  from 
among  active  or  retired  functionaries  of  state.  A  sprin- 
kling of  green  robes  of  the  cult  was  conspicuous  among 
them.  They  were  followed  by  the  deputies  in  a  body, 
or  by  as  many  of  them  as  had  arrived.  For  in  the  re- 
moter parts  of  the  empire  the  elections  were  not  quite 
through  by  the  time  parliament,  already  a  month  late, 
opened.  Their  prevailing  soberness  of  frock  coat  and  fez 
was  relieved  by  an  occasional  military  uniform  and  by  a 
surprising  proportion  of  religious  turbans.  There  were 
also  a  few  Syrian  or  Arab  head-dresses  above  picturesque 
robes  of  striped  silk.  In  the  meantime  ministers,  relig- 
ious dignitaries,  and  certain  unofficial  guests  of  the  kind 
known  in  the  East  as  notables,  had  been  taking  their 
places.  The  ministers  sat  at  the  left  of  the  tribune, 
facing  the  house.  They  were  resplendent  in  gold  lace 
and  orders,  with  the  single  exception  of  the  white-bearded 
Shei'h  ill  Islam   in   his  simple  white  robe.     Facing  the 


420       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

ministers  were  the  green,  purple,  and  fawn-coloured 
robes  of  the  iilema.  On  the  other  side  of  the  steps  of 
the  tribune,  in  front  of  the  senators,  were  the  heads  of 
the  non-Moslem  sects  of  the  empire.  Their  black  robes 
and  head-dresses  made  a  contrastingly  sombre  group,  in 
which  the  red-topped  turban  of  the  locum  tenens  of  the 
Grand  Rabbinate  and  the  crimson  hat  and  veil  of  the 
Armenian  Cathohc  Patriarch  were  vivid  notes  of  colour. 
But  the  most  conspicuous  contrast  was  made  by  certain 
of  the  "notables"  present,  among  whom  were  members 
of  that  loquacious  body  known  as  the  Balkan  Committee 
and  their  ladies.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  latter  ap- 
preciated the  honour  that  was  done  them,  alone  of  their 
sex.  These  komitajis  were  prudently  tucked  as  far  out 
of  sight  as  possible,  where,  nevertheless,  their  wayworn 
British  tweeds  and  sailor-hats  did  not  fail  to  attract 
musing  Oriental  eyes,  and  to  suggest  to  light-minded 
impressionists  the  scenarios  of  comic  operas. 

By  noon  only  the  president's  tribune  and  the  two 
boxes  facing  those  of  the  diplomats  and  the  journahsts, 
reserved  for  guests  from  the  Palace,  remained  without 
an  occupant.  Great  doubt  had  been  expressed  as  to 
whether  the  imperial  box  would  be  fdled  at  all.  If  the 
matter  had  been  left  to  Abd  iil  Hamid's  preference  the 
box  would  doubtless  have  remained  empty.  But  the 
Committee  had  found  a  way  of  overcoming  Abd  iil 
Hamid's  preferences,  and  not  only  did  he  reopen  In  per- 
son the  parliament  he  had  tried  to  suppress,  but  he 
drove  all  the  way  from  Beshiktash  to  Stamboul  to  do  it. 
He  had  not  seen  so  much  of  his  capital  for  fifteen  j^ears. 
The  arrival  of  his  brilliant  cortege  we  did  not  witness 
from  our  black  pen  under  the  ceiling  of  the  parliament 
chamber.  We  heard  the  fanfare  of  bugles  heralding  the 
approach  of  majesty,  the  bands  striking  up  one  after  the 


REVOLUTION  421 

other  the  Hamidleh  March,  the  cheers  sounding  nearer 
and  nearer  till  the  last  rose  from  the  court  below.  A  few 
glittering  personages  near  the  tribune,  a  deputy  or  two 
from  the  front  row,  who  had  gone  to  the  windows,  re- 
sumed their  places.  There  was  a  general  stir  of  expec- 
tancy, a  last  preening  of  orders  and  epaulets.  After  a 
few  minutes  a  group  of  very  literally  gilded  youths  was 
ushered  into  the  left  hand  of  the  three  compartments  of 
the  imperial  box.  TJiey  were  five  of  the  Sultan's  sons, 
accompanied  by  his  cousin  Abd  iil  Mejid  EfTendi.  A 
moment  later  the  box  above  them  filled  with  members 
of  the  imperial  suite.  In  the  midst  of  their  gold  lace  and 
jewels  the  black  face  and  white  eyeballs  of  a  Palace 
eunuch  were  a  characteristic  note. 

These  personages  had  time  to  admire  and  to  be  ad- 
mired of  all  beholders  before  the  more  august  guest  of 
the  occasion  arrived.  In  fact  it  was  a  full  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  a  new  splendour  of  uniforms  was  seen  to 
mount  the  stairs  at  the  rear  of  the  box,  and  the  Sultan 
came  in  sight.  He  then  made  the  mistake  of  entering 
the  compartment  reserved  for  his  brother  Mehmed 
Reshad  EfTendi  and  his  cousin  ^'oussouf  Izzeddin  Ef- 
fencli,  the  next  two  heirs  to  the  throne  —  who  failed  to 
honour  the  occasion.  With  earth-sweeping  salaams  the 
master  of  ceremonies  inducted  his  majesty  into  the  cen- 
tral compartment.  There  seemed  to  be  something  less 
than  imperial  ease  in  the  hesitation  with  which  he  lingered 
a  moment  in  the  rear  of  the  box.  He  dropped  his  glove, 
and  the  master  of  ceremonies  picked  it  up.  The  dead 
silence  that  greeted  him  when  he  did  step  forward  was  a 
surprise  to  those  who  had  witnessed  European  acclama- 
tions of  royalty.  All  rose  to  their  feet  and  stood  with 
folded  hands  in  the  Oriental  attitude  of  respect.  They 
did,  however,  permit  themselves  to  look  up.     The  Sultan 


422       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

stood  with  his  hand  on  his  sword  of  empire,  looking  down, 
a  figure  of  dignity  in  his  plain  dark  military  overcoat, 
visibly  bow^d  by  years  and  anxiety,  yet  not  so  grey  as  one 
might  expect,  keen-eyed,  hawk-nosed,  fuII-bearded,  tak- 
ing in  one  by  one  the  faces  that  represented  every  race 
and  region  of  his  wide  domains.  The  silence  and  the  in- 
tentness  of  that  mutual  regard  grew  dramatic  as  the 
seconds  gathered  into  minutes.  "A  wolf  in  a  cage!" 
whispered  some  one  behind  me.  There  was  too  Httle 
room  in  the  epigram  for  the  strangeness  of  the  scene. 
One  could  fill  the  silence  with  what  one  pleased  of  historic 
visions,  of  tragic  memories,  of  hatreds  and  ambitions,  of 
victory  and  defeat.  But  all  the  East  was  in  that  un- 
yielding surrender  and  in  that  uncelebrated  triumph. 

The  silence  was  suddenly  broken  by  the  voice  of  the 
Sultan's  secretary,  who  began  to  read,  beside  the  steps 
of  the  tribune,  the  speech  from  the  throne.  My  Turkish 
IS  too  small  and  too  colloquial  to  take  in  much  of  so  high- 
flown  a  document,  but  I  caught  references  to  the  perfidy 
of  Austria  and  Bulgaria  and  to  the  author's  satisfaction 
in  being  able  to  open  again  the  assembly  for  which  thirty 
years  ago  the  country  had  not  been  ripe.  Twice  the 
house  broke  into  applause,  which  the  Sultan  acknowl- 
edged with  a  military  salute.  At  the  close  of  the  reading 
a  green-robed  moUah  offered  prayer.  The  majority  of 
those  present  listened  to  it,  as  Moslems  do,  in  an  attitude 
very  much  like  that  of  the  Greek  adorante  in  Berlin, 
except  that  the  hands  are  held  lower  and  closer  to  the 
body.  When  the  prayer  came  to  an  end,  with  a  fervent 
responsive  amin,  the  Sultan  did  a  thing  that  no  one  had 
expected.  He  made  a  brief  speech.  But  the  signal  had 
already  been  given,  according  to  programme,  for  bands 
and  cannon  to  announce  the  inauguration  of  the  new 
era.     The   consequence   was    that    few    heard    even    the 


REVOLUTION  423 

sound   of  his   majesty's   voice.     In   a   moment   more   he 
was  gone. 

The  entire  ceremony,  during  which  all  remained  on 
their  feet,  lasted  less  than  half  an  hour.     When  it  was 
over,  those  who   had  lost  the  spectacle  of  the  Sultan's 
arrival  made  haste  to  secure  places  whence  they  might 
witness  that  of  his  departure.     The  view  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  parliament  house  was  one  never  to  forget  — 
for  its  own  picturesqueness,  for  its  historic  significance, 
for  its  evocations  of  the  unconquerable  vitaHty,  of  the 
dramatic   contrasts   and   indifferences   of  Ufe.     The   sun 
was  in  gala  mood  that  day,  to  match  the  mood  and  to 
bring  out  the  predominatingly  Asiatic  colour  of  the  thou- 
sands that  packed  the  square  which  had  been  the  Forum 
AugustcTum  of  New  Rome.     Not  only  did  they  pack  the 
square,    those    Asiatic    thousands,    and    every    radiating 
open  space  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach;  they  loaded  its 
bare  trees,  they  filled  the  windows  and  lined  the  roofs 
overlooking  it,  they  darkened  the  buttresses,  the  cupolas, 
the  minaret  galleries  of  St.  Sophia.     Two  men  even  clung 
to  the  standard  of  the  crescent  at  the  apex  of  the  great 
dome.     The  brown  chasseurs  of  Salonica,  in  recognition 
of  the  part  they  played  in  the  revolution,  were  given  the 
honour  of  keeping  open  a  narrow  lane  through  the  mid- 
dle of  the  square.     They  were  assisted  by  tall  blue  Ana- 
tolians of  the  imperial  guard  and  by   deputations  with 
flags  and   inscribed  banners.     A  gilded  barouche  drove 
into   the   courtyard   where   once   had   stood   the   Roman 
senate.      A    scarlet-and-gold    coachman   drove  the   four 
superb  iron-grey  horses,  and  in  front  of  them  pranced  a 
fifth   iron-grey   mounted   by   a   blue-and-silver    outrider. 
Three  buglers  in  black  and  scarlet  faced  the  porte-cochere. 
At  the  sound  of  their  bugles  the  soldiers  presented  arms 
and  a  band   burst   into  the  imperial  march.     The  thin 


424       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

blue  and  brown  fringe  of  guards  undulated  with  the 
eddies  of  motion  that  surged  through  the  pressing  thou- 
sands in  their  frenzy  to  see  the  monarch  whom  they  had 
shorn  of  his  power.  Then,  surrounded  by  the  glitter  of 
the  princes  and  his  aides,  preceded  and  followed  by  the 
scarlet  flutter  of  the  lancers'  banderoles,  the  Caliph  of 
Islam  flashed  away  toward  the  column  of  Constantine. 


XV 

THE  CAPTURE  OF   CONSTANTINOPLE 

1909 

What  could  be  more  aggravating  to  a  greedy  impres- 
sionist than  to  have  sat  nearly  two  years  in  Constanti- 
nople, to  have  watched  the  amicable  revolution  of  1908, 
to  have  been  one  of  a  privileged  few  to  assist  at  the 
reopening  by  Abd  ill  Hamid  of  the  parhament  he  sup- 
pressed thirty-two  years  ago,  and  then  to  have  been 
caught  in  an  ignoble  Florentine  pension,  among  ladies 
passionate  after  pictures,  when  the  mutiny  of  April  13 
broke  out  in  Stamboul?  And  nothing,  from  the  meagre 
Itahan  telegrams,  was  more  difficult  to  make  out  than 
the  origin  of  that  mutiny.  Had  the  Committee  of  Union 
and  Progress  made  the  mistakes  their  friends  had  feared? 
Had  the  opposition  liberals  been  unconsciously  playing 
into  the  hands  of  reactionaries?  Had  the  Sultan,  who 
appeared  to  swallow  the  revokition  in  so  lambhke  a 
manner,  merely  been  lying  low?  The  only  thing  was  to 
go  back  and  find  out,  and  to  get  what  reparation  one 
could  by  seeing  the  end  of  the  affair  —  if  end  there 
were.  For  it  must  be  recorded  against  the  sagacity  of 
impressionists,  or  of  one  particular  impressionist,  that 
he  thought  nothing  at  all  might  happen. 

The  first  hint  of  anything  to  the  contrary  came  from 
a  Neue  Freie  Presse,  obtained  at  a  Croatian  railway- 
station,    which    announced   that   by   the    19th   a   Mace- 

4^5 


426      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

donian  army  would  concentrate  at  ChataIJa,  some 
twenty-five  miles  from  Constantinople.  The  19th  was 
the  next  day,  and  I  was  due  in  Stamboul  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  20th.  There  might,  then,  be  sights  to  see  on 
the  way.  I  had  a  further  hint  of  them  after  getting 
into  the  Constantinople  sleeper  that  night  at  Belgrade. 
Two  men  were  already  in  bed  in  the  compartment,  and 
before  morning  I  became  conscious  of  the  porter  tcIHng 
one  of  them  in  Turkish  that  he  must  change  for  Salonica 
in  twenty  minutes.  I  told  myself  that  he  must  be  a 
Young  Turk  hurrying  back  from  Europe  to  take  part 
in  —  what?  I  had  the  strangest  sense,  as  we  whistled 
through  the  dark  toward  Nisch,  of  forces  gathering 
silently  for  an  imj)ending  drama. 

We  spent  the  next  day  crawling  through  Bulgaria, 
along  that  old  highway  of  the  empire  where  Janissaries 
march  behind  the  sacred  banner  of  the  Prophet  no  more. 
Being  no  master  of  Slavic  languages,  I  was  dependent  on 
our  polyglot  porter  for  news.  This  gloomy  individual,  a 
Greek  from  Pcra,  gathered  assurance  with  each  kilometre 
—  and  they  were  not  few,  for  the  philanthropic  Baron 
Hirsch,  who  was  paid  for  each  one,  put  in  as  many  of 
them  as  he  could  —  that  his  family  had  been  massacred. 
He  looked  for  confirmation  of  his  fears  at  Moustafa 
Pasha.  We  reached  that  humble  frontier  station  about 
ten  o'clock  that  night.  There  was  no  news,  but  there 
were  soldiers  of  a  new  kind,  sturdy  fellows  in  moccasins 
and  white  leggings,  who  strode  up  and  down  between 
tracks  with  a  businesslike  air  entirely  different  from  the 
usual  Moustafa  Pasha  military.  I  was  to  see  more  of 
those  white  leggings. 

I  got  up  early  the  next  morning,  in  order  to  steal  a 
march  on  the  lavatory.  The  porter,  gloomier  than  ever, 
assured  me  that  I  need  not  have  taken  the  trouble.     We 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    4^7 

had   been  delayed  by  troop  trains  and  could  not  reach 
Constantinople  much  before  noon.     That  began  to  look 
interesting.     I    must   confess,   though,   that  the  interest 
paled  as  we  stood  still  —  and  breakfastless  —  at  a  small 
way  station  for  something  over  an  hour,  with  no  appar- 
ent reason.     The  reason  became  apparent  at  the  station 
following,  where  we  overtook  a  long  train  of  freight-cars. 
Their  freight  consisted  of  horses,  of  camp  baggage,  and 
notably  of  soldiers,  many  of  them  in  moccasins  and  white 
felt  leggings  bound  with  black.     Many  others  wore  the 
strong  pointed  slippers  of  the  country,  with  the  counter 
turned  under  their  heels,  and  white  felt  Albanian  skull- 
caps.    All  of  them  were  friendly,  curious  as  to  a  train  so 
much    more   comfortable   than   their  own,  and  good-hu- 
mouredly  willing  to  be  photographed.     A  whitecap  who 
led'  a   party  of  inspection  through  our  sleeping-car  ex- 
plained to  his  companions  why  I  could  not  instantly  pre- 
sent them  with  their  portraits.     He  did  a  little  photog- 
raphy himself,  he  told  me;  also  that  he  was  by  profession 
a  municipal  clerk  in  Macedonia,  although  for  the  moment 
a  volunteer.     I  asked  him,  in  my  ignorance,  what  side 
he  was  on  and  what  he  was  going  to  do.     "We  are  for 
liberty,"   he  answered  gravely.     "We  are  going  to   kill 
Sultan  Hamid.     In  Stamboul  the  great  men  sit  and  eat 
pilaj  while  we  starve.     We  have  had  enough."     And  that 
was  the  general  chorus.     "Papa  Hamid  is  finished,"  said 
a  young  officer  whom    I   later   met  again   in   Stamboul. 
It  was  clear  what  the  Macedonians  thought  of  the  situa- 
tion.    The  Sultan  had  had  his  chance  and  he  had  lost  it. 
The  troop  train  left  us  to  meditate  for  two  or  three 
hours   on    a   siding,    but    toward   noon   we   renewed   ac- 
quaintance with  it  —  at  Chatalja.    That  name  had  yet  to 
become  a  household  word.     Nevertheless   I   looked  with 
considerable   interest  at   Chatalja,   where  the  rumoured 


428      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

concentration  should  by  this  time  have  taken  place, 
where  already  existed  the  line  of  fortifications  that  was  to 
save  Constantinople  in  191 2,  and  where  of  old  a  Byzan- 
tine wall  ran  from  sea  to  sea.  Of  Byzantine  walls  how- 
ever, of  modern  fortifications,  or  of  concentrating  armies, 
there  was  no  sign.  There  was  merely  a  red-brown  wooden 
station,  a  dusty  road,  a  scarce  less  dusty  coffee-house 


Soldiers  at  Chatalja,  April  20 

beyond  it,  a  group  of  quarantine  shanties  farther  away, 
and  on  a  low  rim  of  green  that  lifted  itself  against  the 
April  blue  something  that  looked  like  a  ruined  w^atch- 
tower.  For  the  study  of  this  simple  mise  en  scene  not 
less  than  five  hours  were  afforded  us.  The  slightest 
incident,  accordingly,  assumed  a  grave  importance.  A 
plump  person  in  shoulder-straps  rattled  down  the  dusty 
road  in  an  ancient  landau.  Was  he  the  generalissimo  of. 
the  investing  army?  I  later  had  occasion  to  learn  that 
he  w^as  not.  A  naval  officer  appeared  from  somewhere 
and  was  fervently  embraced  by  the  officers  of  our  troop 
train.     He  might  be  bringing  them  assurance  of  the  loy- 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    429 

alty  of  the  fleet.  In  fact,  I  believe  he  did.  Two  indi- 
viduals in  black  robes  and  white  turbans  were  brought 
in  under  guard  of  a  new  kind  of  soldier,  smart  fellows  in 
lightish  blue.  I  was  told  that  the  priests  were  agitators 
who  had  been  caught  trying  to  corrupt  the  soldiers, 
while  their  captors  belonged  to  the  famous  Macedonian 
gendarmerie.  And  after  our  troop  train  had  gone  an- 
other one  came,  gaily  decorated  with  boughs  and  flags. 
The  men  were  all  volunteers  —  Albanians,  Bulgars, 
Greeks,  Jews,  Vlachs.  But  there  was  nothing  of  the  tyro 
in  the  way  they  carried  their  rifles  and  cartridge  belts. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  many  of  them  were  ex-brigands 
and  komitajis,  turned  into  patriots  by  the  mutiny  at 
Constantinople.  And  excellent  patriots  they  made,  poor 
fellows,  many  of  whom  were  kifled  four  days  later  in  the 
city  to  which  they  went  so  light-heartedly. 

So  the  day  passed,  with  long  stops,  with  short  ad- 
vances, with  pangs  of  hunger  which  a  disgusted  Orient 
Express  —  itself  some  nine  hours  late  —  reluctantly  con- 
sented to  appease,  with  melodramatic  rumours  of  battle, 
and  with  a  fmal  sight  of  soldiers  making  a  thin  black  ant 
trail  over  a  bare  hill.     Night  came  upon  us  in  the  green 
valley  of  Sparta  Kouleh,  at  the  end  of  which  a  gleam  of 
the  Marmora  was   visible,  and   the   Bithynian  Olympus 
ethereal  with  snow.     A  bonfire  reddened  the  twilight  m 
front  of  us,  soldiers  were  singing  not  far  away,  frogs  or 
tree-toads  made  a  silver  music  in  the  distance.     To  what 
grim  things,  I  wondered   as  we  so  mysteriously  waited, 
did  nature  make   this   soft   antithesis?     At   last   a   long 
train,  fifty-seven  empty  freight-cars,  rumbled  out  of  the 
dark  from  the  direction  of  the  city.     We  then  started  on 
again,  stopping  only  to  take  on  and  let  ofl"  oflicers  at  way 
stations,   and  reached  town,   fourteen  and   a  half  hours 
late,  at  half  past  ten. 


430      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

Expectation,  after  a  checkered  approach,  had  been 
raised  to  a  pitch.  But  Constantinople  proved  a  most 
singularly  beleaguered  city.  I  perceived  that  when  I 
saw  a  couple  of  Macedonian  officers  get  off  the  train 
with  nie.  I  perceived  it  again  when  I  passed  the  customs 
with  an  unaccustomed  ease  and  drove  away  through 
streets  that  gave  no  hint  of  siege.  Still  more  clearly  did 
I  perceive  it  during  the  three  long  days  that  followed  my 
arrival.  Beleaguering  there  was,  for  rumour  peopled  the 
fields  of  Thrace  with  advancing  thousands,  and  Hussein 
Hussnii  Pasha,  commander  of  operations  at  the  front, 
issued  manifestoes.  To  the  garrison  he  offered  immunity 
on  condition  of  their  taking  a  solemn  oath  of  obedience 
before  the  Shei'h  iil  Islam.  To  those  of  the  populace 
not  implicated  in  the  kite  uprising  he  promised  security 
of  person  and  property.  And  both  apparently  made 
haste  to  put  themselves  on  the  right  side.  Deputation 
after  deputation  went  out  to  the  enemy's  camp  in  token 
of  surrender.  The  War  Oflice  made  plans  for  provision- 
ing the  invaders.  Parliament  assembled  at  San  Stefano 
in  the  shadow  of  the  Macedonian  camp,  and  the  fleet 
foHowed  suit.  At  the  same  time  the  air  was  tense  with 
the  feeling  that  first  came  to  me  when  the  porter  of  my 
sleeping-car  called  that  unknown  passenger  at  Nisch. 
What  was  going  to  happen?  It  was  an  indication  of 
the  colour  of  people's  thoughts  that  the  outgoing  steam- 
ers were  crowded  during  those  days,  and  panics  ran 
through  the  town  like  rumours.  Some  one  would  shout: 
"They  are  coming!"  The  streets  would  instantly  fill 
with  the  rush  of  feet,  the  clang  of  closing  shutters. 

On  Friday,  the  23d,  I  w^ent  to  Selamlik.  I  also 
wrote  a  last  will  and  testament  before  doing  so,  which 
I  left  with  careless  conspicuousness  on  my  desk,  for 
there   was    much    talk    of   bombs    and    depositions.     So 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    431 

much  was  there  that  in  the  diplomatic  pavilion,  to  which 
I  was  admitted  by  courtesy  of  our  embassy,  no  heads  of 
missions  were  present.  There  were  also  fewer  general 
spectators  than  usual,  and  they  were  kept  at  a  greater 
distance.  Otherwise  the  ceremony  took  place  with  its 
old  pomp.  I  missed  the  handsome  white  Albanian  and 
the  bkie  Arab  zouaves,  recently  expelled  from  the  im- 
perial guard;  but  the  dark-blue  infantry,  the  black-and- 
red  marines,  the  scarjet-pennoned  lancers,  the  matched 
cavalry  of  Daoud  Pasha,  a  brown  battalion  of  sappers, 
and  even  a  detachment  of  the  Salonica  sharpshooters, 
marched  up  the  hill  with  sounding  brass.  Before  they 
had  quite  banked  up  the  approaches  to  the  Palace  and 
the  mosque  the  sun,  breaking  from  morning  clouds, 
brought  out  all  the  colour  of  that  pageant  set  for  the 
last  time.  Toward  noon  five  closed  court  carriages  of 
ladies  drove  slowly  down  the  avenue,  surrounded  by 
solemn  black  eunuchs,  and  turned  into  the  mosque  yard. 
A  group  of  officers  in  gala  uniform  took  their  places  in 
Hne  opposite  the  diplomatic  paviHon.  At  their  head 
stood  Prince  Bourhan  ed  Din,  the  Sultan's  favourite  son. 
His  presence  excited  no  little  interest,  for  it  had  been 
reported  that  he  had  run  away.  He  looked  unusually 
pale.  Suddenly  the  miiezins  shrill  sweet  cry  sounded 
from  the  minaret  and  the  bands  began  to  play  the 
Hamidieh  March.  Then  the  Sultan's  cortege  —  of  bril- 
Hant  uniforms  on  foot,  of  trusty  Albanian  riflemen, 
of  bkie-and-silver  grooms  leading  blooded  chargers  — 
emerged  from  an  archway  in  the  Palace  walk  Abd  iil 
Hamid,  in  a  hooded  victoria  drawn  by  two  beautiful 
black  horses,  sat  facing  Tevfik  Pasha,  the  Grand  Vizier 
of  the  moment,  and  his  son  Abd  iir  Rahim  Effendi.  He 
looked  bent  and  haggard,  the  more  because  his  sunken 
cheeks  were  so  palpably  rouged.     As  he  passed  under  the 


432       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

terrace  of  the  diplomatic  pavilion  he  glanced  up  to  see  if 
any  of  the  ambassadors  were  there.  The  fact  that  none 
of  them  were  was  afterward  said  to  have  irritated  him 
intensely.  He  did  not  betray  it,  at  all  events,  as  he 
passed  down  the  avenue,  saluting  right  and  left  to  his 
cheering  soldiers.  After  leaving  his  carriage  at  the 
moscjue  door,  where  his  little  son  Abid  Effendi  waited 
quaintly  in  the  uniform  of  an  officer,  he  turned  and 
sakited  again  before  going  up  the  steps. 

When  the  bowed  figure  disappeared  it  was  as  if  a 
spring  were  suddenly  let  go.  Guards  and  spectators 
alike  relaxed  from  a  tension.  There  had  been  no  bomb. 
There  had  been  no  irruption  of  invading  armies.  There 
had  been  no  sign  of  disloyalty  among  troops  who  were 
supposed  to  have  gone  over  to  the  ALacedonians.  In- 
deed, they  had  cheered  as  I  never  heard  them  except  at 
the  Selarnlik  after  the  re-establishment  of  the  constitu- 
tion. It  did  not  look  very  much  as  if  Papa  Hamid  were 
finished,  to  quote  my  Macedonian  officer.  It  looked, 
on  the  contrary,  as  if  what  an  aide-de-camp  whispered 
might  be  true  —  that  Papa  Hamid  took  the  famous  be- 
leaguering as  a  bkiff,  and  proposed  to  call  it.  The  situ- 
ation became  more  equi\'ocal  than  ever. 

In  the  meantime'big  English  tea  baskets  were  brought 
up  the  avenue,  and  the  soldiers  were  served  with  tea, 
coffee,  and  biscuits  at  the  expense  of  a  paternal  sover- 
eign. Then  a  bugle  sounded  and  they  jumped  to  atten- 
tion, gulping  down  last  mouthfuls  as  the  imperial  carriage 
left  the  mosque.  The  Sultan  returned  with  the  same 
ceremony  as  before,  except  that  Bourhan  ed  Din  Effendi 
accompanied  him.  After  he  had  entered  the  Palace  the 
troops  dispersed  in  review  order,  marching  up  one  side 
of  the  avenue  to  the  Palace  gate  and  marching  down  the 
other.     When  most  of  them  were  gone  the  Sultan   ap- 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    433 

peared  for  a  moment  at  a  window  overlooking  the  ter- 
race of  the  diplomatic  pavilion.  Again  he  was  enthusi- 
astically cheered. 

It  was  for  the  last  time.  But  the  situation  seemed  to 
clear.  That  afternoon  Mahmoud  Shefket  Pasha,  general- 
issimo of  the  Macedonian  forces,  whom  I  did  not  see  at 
Chataija,  issued  the  first  of  a  notable  series  of  manifes- 
toes. He  announced  his  assumption  of  command  at  the 
front  and  his  intention  to  punish  only  those  responsible 
for  the  late  disturbance.  One  phrase  attracted  particu- 
lar attention.  He  said:  "Certain  intriguers,  in  fear  of 
punishment,  have  spread  the  rumour  that  the  above- 
mentioned  forces  have  arrived  in  order  to  depose  the 
sovereign.  To  these  rumours  I  oppose  a  formal  denial." 
Every  foreign  correspondent  in  Constantinople  thereupon 
telegraphed  to  his  paper  that  the  Salonica  troops  would 
make  a  peaceful  entry  into  the  city  and  that  Abd  iil 
Hamid  would  remain  on  the  throne. 

The  next  morning,  Saturday,  I  was  roused  before  six 
o'clock  by  a  member  of  our  country  household.  "  I  don't 
know,"  he  said,  "but  do  you  hear  anything?"  I  listened. 
I  heard  a  light  air  in  the  garden  trees,  a  pervading  twitter 
of  birds.  Then  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  heard  something 
else  in  the  distance,  something  faintly  crackling,  followed 
occasionally  by  something  more  deeply  booming.  It 
sounded  like  firing,  and  I  suddenly  remembered  my 
friends  of  the  white  leggings.  ^  et  the  morning  was  so 
delicious,  the  sky  was  so  soft,  the  garden  so  full  of  birds. 
By  the  time  I  got  down  to  the  wharf  a  few  people  were 
gathered  there,  talking  gravely  in  low  voices.  The  shots 
we  heard  did  not  altogether  break  the  tension  of  the 
last  few  days.  My  friend  the  ticket  seller  gave  me  seri- 
ous advice.     "Go  back  to  your  house,"   he  said.     "Sit 


434       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

in  your  garden,  and  be  at  peace.  Lead  falls  into  the  sea 
like  rain  at  Beshiktash.  No  steamers  run.  They  have 
all  been  sent  back."  I  was  disinchned  to  believe  him. 
It  seemed  incredible  that  anything  particular  was  hap- 
pening —  on  such  a  day,  after  so  many  overtures  to  the 
Macedonians.  Among  those  at  the  scala  I  saw  Habib 
the  boatman,  whom  all  men  know  for  a  liberal  and  a 
reader  of  papers.  "Habib,"  I  said,  "let  us  row  to  the 
city.  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  go,  and  there  seem  to  be 
no  steamers.  I  will  pay  you  a  dollar."  Habib  regarded 
me  as  one  might  regard  a  kmatic  for  whom  one  enter- 
tains friendly  sentiments.  '' EJfendirn,''  he  repHed,  "what 
do  you  say?  They  are  fighting  at  \'IIdiz,  and  not  for 
one  or  for  many  dollars  will  I  go.  What  have  you  to  do 
in  town  to-day?"  I  began  to  be  rather  annoyed.  I  had 
to  get  some  films,  and  there  was  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't, 
if  they  were  fighting  at  Yildiz.  It  didn't  occur  to  me 
that  there  could  be  trouble  anywhere  else  in  the  town. 
But  neither  boat  nor  boatman  could  be  induced  to  go 
down  the  Bosphorus. 

I  chmbed  Hissar  hill  again,  to  warn  the  rest  of  a  town- 
going  household  of  the  situation  and  to  collect  recruits 
for  a  forced  march  of  seven  miles  across  country.  They 
were  not  difficult  to  obtain.  Three  of  us  were  starting 
for  a  last  reconnaissance  of  the  scala,  when  we  heard  a 
steamer  whistle.  We  w^re  just  in  time  to  jump  trium- 
phantly on  board.  So  the  croakers  w^re  mistaken,  after 
all!  The  passengers  were  few,  how^ever.  At  the  next 
.station  of  Bebek,  w^here  a  considerable  English  colony 
lives,  a  number  of  friends  joined  us.  At  the  station  be- 
low that  the  captain  threw  up  the  sponge.  An  up-bound 
steamer  was  there,  which  had  turned  back.  We  told 
our  captain  he  w^as  a  fool,  a  coward,  and  as  many  other 
uncomplimentary  things  as  we  could  think  of,   but  he 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    435 

refused  to  budge.  We  accordingly  got  off  and  took  the 
stony  street  following  the  shore  to  the  city.  People 
stared  at  us  as  Habib  had  stared  at  me.  The  tide  of 
travel  was  all  the  other  way.  There  w^ere  carriages  full 
of  Turkish  women,  with  eunuchs  on  the  box.  There 
were  Armenians,  Greeks,  and  Jews  of  the  lower  classes  — 
the  last  distinguishable  by  the  furred  robes  of  the  old 
men  —  hurrying  northward  on  foot,  w^ith  babies  and 
bundles  in  their  arms..  There  w^ere,  more  notably,  sol- 
diers of  the  garrison,  singly,  in  groups,  with  or  without 
rifles.  We  stopped  the  first  we  saw  and  asked  what  was 
up.  They  all  declared  that  they  knew  nothing,  showing 
much  haste  to  be  on.  We  afterward  realised  that  they 
were  running  away.  We  saw  some  of  them  bargaining 
for  boats  to  take  them  to  the  Asiatic  side. 

There  had  been  no  firing  for  some  time,  and  the  sight 
of  rowboats  so  much  nearer  the  scene  of  action  than  Hissar 
convinced  me  anew  of  a  false  alarm.     The  Macedonians 
had  probably  come  into  town  at  last.    The  Palace  guard 
might  very  well  have  made  a  row.     Perhaps  even  the 
Sultan  had  been  deposed,  and  had  objected  to  it.     But 
how  was   it  possible  that  there  should   be  any  general 
fighting?     At  Orta-kyoi,  next  to  the  imperial  suburb  of 
Beshiktash,  six  of  us  got  in  to  two  sandals.     We  soon 
separated.     The  boat  in  which  I  sat  had  not  gone  far 
toward  the  harbour  before  firing  broke  out  again.     There 
was  no  doubt  about  it  this  time.     The  crack  of  musketry, 
intensely  sharp  and  sinister  in  the  clear  spring  morning, 
would  be  followed  by  the  deeper  note  of  a  field-piece. 
But  we  could  see  nothing.     The  roofs  of  Yildiz  nestled 
serene  as  ever  among  their  embosoming  gardens.     The 
imperial  flag  still  floated  from  its  accustomed  staff.     Not 
a  cloud,  not  a  puff,  indicated  the  direction  of  the  firing. 
It    was    uncanny.     What    could    have    happened?     We 


436       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

skirted  the  artillery  magazines  of  Top  Haneh,  passed 
the  embassy  despatch-boats,  and  began  rounding  into 
the  harbour.  Suddenly  the  man  in  the  stern  of  the  boat 
uttered  a  quick  "By  Jove!"  and  ducked.  A  bullet  had 
whizzed  behind  his  ear.  Another  splashed  the  water  ofT 
our  bow.  A  third  sang  over  our  heads.  I  began  to 
think  that  they  had  not  been  wrong  at  Roumeli  Hissar 
when  they  advised  me  to  sit  in  my  garden  and  be  at 
peace.  I  was  far  from  being  at  peace  and  I  decidedly 
wished  that  I  were  in  my  garden.  The  next  best  place 
seemed  to  be  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  In  the  face  of 
public  opinion,  however,  as  represented  by  two  English- 
men and  a  Turk,  the  only  course  left  a  scared  impression- 
ist was  to  continue  taking  uncomfortable  impressions  in 
as  erect  a  posture  as  possible  and  be  shot  like  a  gentle- 
man. The  sole  satisfaction  I  had  was  in  meditating  of 
my  last  will  and  testament,  providently  made  the  day 
before,  and  of  its  eventual  discovery.  But  it  was  never 
discovered  and  none  of  us  were  laid  low.  While  a  few 
more  bullets  spattered  around  us,  we  were  soon  out  of 
range  alongside  Galata  quay. 

The  first  thing  I  saw  there  was  a  pair  of  white  leggings 
on  guard  at  a  gate.  I  went  up  to  the  sunburned  soldier 
who  wore  them  as  to  a  long-lost  brother,  and  asked  for 
news.  xMy  reception,  I  regret  to  confess,  was  not  too 
cordial  "Do  not  stop,"  admonished  the  Macedonian. 
"If  you  have  business,  do  it  and  go.  There  is  no  danger, 
but  the  bridge  is  closed  and  boats  do  not  run.  To-morrow 
everything  will  be  the  same  as  yesterday."  In  one  re- 
spect, at  least,  he  was  right.  The  bridge  was  closed. 
Access  not  only  to  Stamboul  but  to  the  great  street  of 
Galata  was  cut  off  by  white  leggings.-  There  was,  accord- 
mgly,  no  chance  of  making  the  tunnel  to  Pera.  As  my 
friends  were  divided  as  to  their  projects,  I  explored  cer- 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    437 

tain  noisome  alleys  leading  back  from  the  quay  to  see  if 
I  could  reach  the  street  of  steps  climbmg  past  the  Gen- 
oese tower.  On  the  way  I  met  a  party  of  American 
tourists,  hurrying  for  their  steamer  m  charge  of  an  em- 
bassy kavass.  They  amusingly  looked  to  an  impression- 
ist forgetful  of  his  partiality  for  the  bottoms  of  boats 
as  if  they  doubted  whether  they  would  escape  with  their 


Photograph  by  W   I-   M    L 


Macedonian  volunteers 


lives.  Step  Street  luekllv  proved  open.  The  shops, 
however,  were  shut,  and  pedestrians  were  remarkably 
scarce  Moreover  most  of  them  wore  white  leggmgs,  or 
grev-blue  ones.  Young  gentlemen  so  apparelled,  with 
rin:>s  slung  across  their  backs  and  cartridges  festooned 
about  them,  strolled  up  and  down  the  streets  or  lolled  m 
front  of  public  buildings.  There  was  an  engaging  negli- 
gence about  these  picturesque  persons,  who  had  an  air 
of  keeping  an  eve  on  things  in  spite  of  manifold  ciga- 
rettes     Rilles  might  pop  desultorily  in  the  distance,  but 


438      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

there    was    no  doubt  what   had   happened.     The  ^Laee- 
donians  had  captured  Constantinople. 

I  went  to  the  American  Embassy  to  obtain  details  as 
to  this  historic  event.  I  found  the  gate  guarded  by  cadets 
of  the  War  College  and  Macedonian  Blues.  One  of  the 
latter  smoked  cigarettes  on  the  sidewalk  and  scrutinised 
every  one  who  passed.  At  a  sign  from  him  an  approach- 
ing group  of  marines  was  stopped  and  searched.  A 
Turkish  hoja  was  even  more  roughly  handled,  for  his 
honourable  cloth  had  been  a  favourite  disguise  for  poHt- 
ical  agitators.  No  one  suspected  of  carrying  weapons 
was  let  by.  The  man  in  blue,  it  transpired,  was  one  of 
many  officers  who  escaped  during  the  mutiny  and  came 
back  with  the  invading  army  as  privates,  or  so  dressed 
for  strategic  reasons.  As  for  news,  it  was  remarkably 
meagre.  The  Macedonians  had  occupied  both  banks  of 
the  Golden  Horn  early  in  the  morning  and  had  encoun- 
tered resistance  at  some  of  the  barracks.  There  were 
conflicting  reports  of  the  first  shots  being  due  to  a  mis- 
take and  of  treacherous  flags  of  truce.  At  all  events, 
the  affair  was  not  finished,  for  every  now  and  then  we 
heard  firing.  But  so  far  as  any  one  knew  there  had  been 
no  fight  at  Yildiz. 

What  made  me- realise  more  sharply  than  anything 
else  the  seriousness  of  the  affair  was  the  further  news 
that  Frederick  Moore,  of  the  New  York  Sun,  whom  I 
had  often  met  during  the  last  six  months,  had  been  badly 
wounded.  I  started  up  Pera  Street  to  see  what  I  could 
see.  More  people  were  about  by  that  time,  but  the 
shops  were  shut  and  no  cabs  or  trams  were  running. 
All  the  embassies,  legations,  and  consulates  were  guarded, ' 
like  ours,  by  cadets  and  Macedonian  gendarmes.  Other 
Macedonians,  they  of  the  white  caps  and  white  leggings, 
they   of  the   careless   Mauser  and   the  casual   cigarette, 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    439 


mingled  informally  with  the  crowd.  As  an  inhabitant 
of  a  captured  city,  it  was  interesting  to  note  the  friendli- 
ness of  captives  and  captors.  A  rare  shot  was  the  sole 
reminder  that  there  might  be  more  than  one  side  to  this 
question.  By  the  time 
I  reached  the  vicinity 
of  the  Taxim  artillery 
barracks,  however, 
there  were  other  re- 
minders. I  saw  an  iron 
shutter  neatly  perfor- 
ated by  dozens  of  small 
round  holes.  The  win- 
dows of  houses  in  other- 
wise good  repair  were 
riddled  and  broken. 
Walls  were  curiously 
pockmarked,  and  I  saw 
a  shell  embedded  in 
one.  These  phenomena 
were  particularly  vis- 
ible about  the  local 
guard-house,    which    I 

was  told  had  only  just  surrendered.  Several  stretchers 
passed  me,  carrying  soldiers  in  contorted  attitudes.  A 
man  went  into  the  guard-house  with  a  ridged  pine  cofTin 
on  his  back,  followed  by  two  of  the  dervishes  who  wash 
the  bodies  of  dead  Mohammedans.  I  didn't  count  how 
many  more  coffins  and  dervishes  I  saw  go  into  that 
guard-house. 

I  followed  one  of  the  stretchers  into  the  adjoining 
French  hospital,  in  hope  of  hearing  from  Moore.  The 
resources  of  the  place  were  evidently  overtaxed,  and  I 
took  the  liberty  of  going  farther  to  verify  the  information 


A  Macedonian  liluc 


440      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

given  mc  by  a  whltc-wingcd  sister  of  charity.  At  a  hos- 
pitable English  house  across  the  street  I  found  Airs. 
Moore.  Mr.  Graves,  of  the  London  Times,  who  had 
been  reported  as  dead,  was  also  there,  and  two  English 
officers  of  the  Macedonian  gendarmerie.  They  had 
come  up  unofFicialh'  from  Salonica  to  see  how  their  men 
acquitted  themselves.  It  seemed  they  and  Mr.  Booth,  of 
the  Graphic,  had  been  with  Moore  that  morning.  They 
ran  into  the  firing  before  they  knew  it,  thinking,  as  other 
people  did,  that  the  action  was  taking  place  around 
Mldiz.  Their  position  was  the  more  awkward  because 
the  Macedonians  were  determined  to  prevent  the  sol- 
diers of  the  garrison  from  getting  down  into  Pera,  and 
there  was  cross-firing  from  side  streets.  The  two  corre- 
spondents were  wounded  almost  at  the  same  moment, 
Booth  getting  a  bullet  that  grazed  his  scalp,  and  Moore 
being  shot  clean  through  the  neck.  A  Greek  behind  him 
was  killed,  apparently  by  the  same  ball.  The  officers 
got  Booth  into  an  adjoining  house,  but  by  a  regrettable 
misunderstanding  they  left  Moore  lying  in  the  street, 
whence  he  was  rescued  by  a  young  Greek  sculptor. 

The  streets  grew  more  animated  until  the  Grande  Rue 
de  Pera  assumed  the  appearance  of  a  Sunday  afternoon. 
But  another  aspect 'of  the  situation  was  presented  to  me 
when  I  bearded  the  Blues  of  the  telegraph  office  for  Mrs. 
Moore,  and  heard  clerks  politely  regretting  that  all  wires 
were  down  except  those  to  Europe  by  way  of  Constantza. 
I  concluded  that  Shefket  Pasha,  who  did  not  trouble 
Yildiz  until  he  was  sure  of  the  city,  proposed  to  leave  no 
loophole  for  reactionary  telegrams  to  the  provinces. 
Returning  to  the  Taxim  for  further  reconnaissance,  I  was 
taking  snapshots  when  shots  of  another  kind  began  to 
snap  again.  They  were  neither  near  nor  many,  but  they 
caused  an  extraordinary  panic.     People  ran  wildly  back 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    441 

into  Pera,  the  women  screaming,  the  men  tucking  those 
near  and  dear  to  them  under  their  arms  or  abandoning 
them  to  the  mercy  of  the  foe  as  their  motor  centres  dic- 
tated. I,  seeing  some  soldiers  grin,  waited  in  the  lee  of 
a  tree.     When  the  street  was  clear  I  went  on  to  the  artil- 


Taxim  artillery  barracks,  shelled  April  24 

lery  barracks  that  had  given  so  much  trouble  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  big  building  was  quiet  enough  now,  under  the 
afternoon  sun  that  made  jagged  black  shadows  in  the 
holes  torn  by  Macedonian  shells.  Beyond,  at  the  far 
corner  of  the  Taxim  Garden,  I  saw  a  group  of  white 
leggings.  A  bugle  blew,  and  some  of  them  crept  around 
the  wall  into  the  side  street.  As  I  came  nearer  a  soldier 
ran  toward  me,   brandishing  his  rifle.      "What  are  you 


44^       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

doing  here?"  he  demanded.  I  repHed  as  politely  as  I 
could  that  I  was  taking  photographs.  "Is  this  a  time 
to  take  photographs?"  he  vociferated.  "We  are  killing 
men.  Go  back!"  If  other  argument  were  needed  I  had 
it  in  the  form  of  renewed  shots  that  banged  behind  him, 
where  I  could  see  through  trees  the  yellow  mass  of  Tash 
KishLa.  I  went  back  less  rapidly  than  I  might  have 
done,  remembering  the  people  who  had  just  run  away. 
Opposite  the  garden  was  the  parade-ground  of  the  bar- 
racks, bounded  on  its  farther  side  by  stables  and  a  strip 
of  wall  behind  which  heads  bobbed.  I  began  to  repent 
of  my  retreat,  also  to  thirst  for  human  companionship, 
and  I  resolved  to  join  those  comfortably  ensconced  spec- 
tators. As  I  strolled  toward  them  across  the  great  empty 
space  of  sun  they  hailed  me  from  afar.  I  then  perceived 
with  some  embarrassment  that  they  wore  white  caps,  d 
la  macedoniennc,  and  that  a  portentous  number  of  rifle 
barrels  were  gaping  at  me.  They  were,  in  fact,  reserves 
posted  for  the  afternoon  attack  on  Tash  Kishla. 

I  cannot  say  that  they  received  me  too  civilly.  Grace, 
however,  was  given  me  to  appreciate  that  the  moment 
was  not  one  for  civilities,  especially  from  men  who  had 
been  under  action  for  twelve  hours.  I  also  appreciated 
the  opportunity,  ur-ged  without  forms  upon  me,  of  study- 
ing their  picturesque  rear.  Tired  soldiers  smoked  or 
slept  on  a  steep  grass  slope,  and  a  mule  battery  lurked  in 
the  gully  below.  Wondering  if  it  might  not  yet  be  pos- 
sible to  see  what  was  going  on,  I  approached  a  young 
man  who  stood  at  the  door  of  a  house  behind  the  artil- 
lery stables  and  asked  him  in  my  best  French  if  he  ob- 
jected to  my  ascending  to  a  balcony  I  saw  on  the  top 
story  of  his  house.  He,  being  a  -Greek,  replied  in  his 
best  Enghsh  that  he  would  be  happy  to  accompany  me 
thither.      On  the  way   up   he  pointed   out  to   me,  at  a 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    443 


broken  window  of  the  opposite  stable,  the  figure  of  an 
artilleryman,  his  ride  across  his  knees,  sitting  dead  and 
ghastly  against  a  wall.     And  he  told  me  about  the  en- 
gagement of  which  he 
had    been    an    uncom- 
fortably  close   witness: 
how    the    Macedonians 
marched    in    from    the 
valley    of    the    Golden 
Horn  early  in  the  morn- 
ing;   how    the    first   of 
them   were   allowed   to 
pass  the   artillery   bar- 
racks,   and    were    even 
cheered;    how    another 
lot,  who  scrambled  up 
the  gully  from  Kassim 
Pasha,  saw  a  white  flag 
flying  from  the  artillery 
stables,  advanced  more 
confidently,    and    were 
met    by   a    treacherous 
fire;  how  they  then  re- 
tired for  reinforcements, 
brought    up    machine 
guns    and    field-pieces, 
and    took    stable,    bar- 
racks, and  guard-house  after  a  nasty  little  fight  of  five  hours. 
From  the  balcony  we  had  a  perfect  view  of  the  last 
operations  around  Tash  Klshla.     That  great  yellow  bar- 
racks will  be  memorable  in  the  annals  of  the  Turkish 
revolution.     Many  an  officer  is  said  to  have  been  tor- 
tured there  on  suspicion  of  being  connected  with    the 
Young  Turks.     It  was  there  that  a  detachment  of  the 


They  were,  in  fact,  reserves  posted  lor 
the  afternoon  attack  on  Tash  Kishla 


444       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

imperial  guard  fired  on  the  first  sharpshooters  brought 
up  from  Salonica  to  replace  them.  And  there  a  battalion 
of  those  same  sharpshooters,  who  had  been  corrupted 
into  fomenting  the  late  revolt  and  who  knew  how  Httle 
quarter  they  might  expect  from  their  old  comrades,  held 
out  desperately,  long  after  the  other  barracks  had  given 
in.  The  last  act  of  the  tragedy  looked  less  real  than  a 
stage  tragedy  on  that  divine  spring  afternoon  while  we 
watched,  as  from  a  box  at  the  play,  the  white-legged 
figures  crouching  behind  their  wall,  the  farther  figures 
steahng  up  the  side  of  a  sunny  road,  the  sortie  of  the  last 
handful  of  sharpshooters  from  their  shot-riddled  strong- 
hold. They  took  refuge  in  a  garden  before  the  barracks, 
where  rifles  blazed  and  men  dropped  until  a  desperate 
white  handkerchief  fluttered  among  the  trees. 

The  surrender  of  Tash  Kishia  —  the  Stone  Barracks 
—  practicafly  completed  the  occupation  of  the  city.  But 
the  tension  was  not  over.  There  were  yet  three  days  of 
uncertainty,  of  waiting,  of  a  strange  sense  in  the  air  of 
contrast  between  the  April  sunlight  and  dark  forces 
working  in  silence.  For  Yildiz,  as  ever,  remained  in- 
scrutable. From  the  top  of  Pera  we  could  see,  across 
the  vafley  of  Beshiktash,  the  scene  of  Friday's  Selamlik. 
No  sign  of  life  was  visible  now  at  the  archway  in  the 
Palace  wall,  on  the  avenue  leading  to  the  mosque.  Had 
the  Sultan  surrendered?  Had  he  abdicated?  Had  he 
fled?  AH  we  knew,  until  the  end,  was  that  white  flags 
floated  over  two  of  the  imperial  barracks  and  that  white 
leggings  nonchalantly  appeared  on  Sunday  morning  at  the 
Palace  gates.  In  the  meantime  Shefket  Pasha,  the  man 
of  the  hour,  continued  to  secure  his  position.  The  re- 
doubtable Selimieh  barracks,  scene  of  Florence  Nightin- 
gale's work  in  Ha'idar  Pasha,  he  took  on  Sunday  with 
half  a  dozen  shells.     On   the  same  day   he  proclaimed 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    445 

martial  law.  No  one  was  allowed  in  the  streets  an  hour 
after  sunset,  weapons  were  confiscated,  suspicious  char- 
acters of  all  sorts  were  arrested,  and  the  deserters  of  the 
garrison  were  rounded  up.  Thousands  of  them  were 
picked  out  of  rowboats  on  the  Bosphorus  or  caught  in 
the  open  country.  The  poor  fellows  were  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning.  The  most  absurd  stories  had  been 
spread  among  them:  that  the  invaders  were  Christians 
come  forcibly  to  convert  them;  that  the  son  of  the  King 
of  England  intended  to  turn  Abd  til  Hamid  off  the  throne 
in  order  to  reign  himself;  that  if  taken  they  would  all  be 
massacred.  Dazed  by  all  that  had  been  told  them,  lost 
without  their  officers,  worn  out  by  the  excitement  and 
confusion  of  the  last  ten  days,  their  one  idea  was  to 
get  back  to  their  Asiatic  villages.  On  Monday  morning 
several  hundred  of  them,  including  the  remnant  of  the 
Tash  Kishia  sharpshooters,  were  marched  away  to  the 
court  martial  at  Chatalja.  The  rest,  who  were  merely 
the  victims  of  an  ignorant  loyalty  to  their  Caliph,  were 
sent  to  Macedonia  for  lessons  in  Hberalism  and  road 
making. 

I  wondered  whether  it  were  by  accident  that  the 
prisoners  sent  to  Chatalja  marched  down  the  hill  by  which 
their  captors  had  entered  Pera,  as  preparations  were  being 
made  on  the  same  height,  since  named  of  Perpetual 
Liberty,  for  the  funeral  of  the  first  volunteers  killed.  A 
circular  trench  was  dug  on  the  bare  brown  hilltop,  and  in 
it  fifty  ridged  deal  coffins  were  symmetrically  set  toward 
the  east,  each  covered  with  the  star  and  crescent  and 
each  bearing  a  fez  at  the  head.  Then  a  long  double  file 
of  whitecaps  drew  up  beside  it,  and  a  young  officer  made 
a  spirited  address.  Not  knowing,  in  my  ignorance,  who 
the  officer  was  or  much  of  what  he  said  —  he  turned  out 
to  be  the  famous  Nyazi  Bey  of  Resna  —  I  wandered  away 


446       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 


to  the  edge  of  the  bluff.  A  few  tents  were  still  pitched 
there,  overlooking  the  upper  valley  of  the  Golden  Horn. 
Seeing  a  camera  and  hearing  a  foreign  accent,  the  men 
were  w^illing  enough  to  be  photographed.  They  w^ere 
from  Cavalla,  they  said,  where  an  American  tobacco 
company  maintains  a  factory.     One  of  them  offered  me 


Photograph  by  George  Freund 

Burial  of  volunteers,  April  26 

his  tobacco-box  in  Enghsh.  He  had  hved  two  years  and 
a  half  in  New  York.  When  I  got  back  to  the  trench  the 
soldiers  had  gone  and  the  coffms  were  almost  covered. 
One  officer  was  left,  who  made  to  the  grave-diggers  and 
the  few  spectators  a  speech  of  a  moving  simphcity. 
"Brothers,"  he  said,  **here  are  men  of  every  nation  — 
Turks,  Albanians,  Greeks,  Bulgarians,  Jews;  but  they 
died  together,  on  the  same  day,  fighting  under  the  same 
flag.  Among  us,  too,  are  men  of  every  nation,  both  Mo- 
hammedan and   Christian;    but   we   also   have   one   flag 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    447 

and  we  pray  to  one  God.  Now,  I  am  going  to  make  a 
prayer,  and  when  I  pray  let  each  one  of  you  pray  also, 
in  his  own  language,  in  his  own  way."  With  which  he 
raised  his  hands,  palms  upward,  in  the  Mohammedan 
attitude  of  prayer.  The  other  Mohammedans  followed 
his  example,  while  the  Christians  took  off  their  caps  or 


Photograph  by  W.  G.  M.  Edwards 

Deputies  leaving  Parliament  after  deposing  Abd  ul  Hamid,  April  27 

fezzes  and  crossed  themselves;  and  a  brief  ''amin''  closed 
the  little  ceremony. 

By  Tuesday,  parliament  having  returned  to  town  the 
day  before,  and  having  sat  in  secret  session  with  no 
outward  result,  people  began  to  say  again  that  the  Sul- 
tan would  keep  his  throne.  As  the  morning  wore  on, 
however,  there  began  to  be  indications  of  a  certain  nature. 
In  Pera  Street  I  encountered  a  long  line  of  open  car- 
riages, each  containing  two  or  three  black  eunuchs  and  a 
Macedonian  soldier.    The  odd  procession  explained  itself. 


448      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

The  eunuchs  were  from  the  Palace.  Some  of  them  looked 
downcast,  but  the  majority  stared  back  at  the  crowd 
with  the  detachment  supposed  to  be  of  their  nature, 
while  a  few  of  the  younger  ones  appeared  to  be  enjoying 
an  unaccustomed  pleasure.  It  was  not  so  with  a  proces- 
sion I  saw  later,  crossing  Galata  Bridge.  This  was  com- 
posed of  the'  lower  servants  of  the  Palace,  on  foot,  march- 
ing four  and  four  between  a  baker's  dozen  of  sardonic 
Macedonians.  There  was  no  air  of  palaces  about  them. 
Some  were  in  stamboulines,  frock  coats  with  a  mihtary 
collar,  that  looked  the  worse  for  wear.  Others  wore 
a  manner  of  livery,  coarse  black  braided  with  white. 
Others  still  were  in  the  peasant  costume  of  the  country. 
They  were  followed  by  the  last  of  the  Palace  guard, 
shuffling  disarmed  and  dejected  between  their  sharp- 
eyed  captors.  A  few  jeers  were  raised  as  they  passed, 
but  quickly  died  away.  There  was  something  both 
tragic  and  prophetic  about  that  unhappy  company. 

Returning  to  Galata,  I  found  the  approaches  of  the 
Bridge  guarded  by  soldiers,  who  kept  the  centre  of  the 
street  clear.  The  sidewalks  were  packed  with  people 
who  waited  —  they  did  not  know  for  what.  More  sol- 
diers passed,  with  flags  and  bands.  It  began  to  be  whis- 
pered that  a  new  s'ultan  was  going  over  to  Stamboul 
that  afternoon.  The  rumour  was  presently  confirmed 
by  an  extra  of  the  Osmanischer  Lloyd,  an  enterprising 
Franco-German  paper,  which  was  the  first  in  Constanti- 
nople to  pubhsh  the  news  of  Abd  iil  Hamid's  dethrone- 
ment and  the  accession  of  his  brother.  But  still  people 
could  not  believe  the  news  they  had  been  expecting  so 
long.  They  continued  to  wait,  to  see  what  would  happen. 
I  met  some  friends  who  suggested  going  to  the  vicinity 
of  Dolma  Ba'hcheh  Palace,  the  residence  of  the  heir 
presumptive.     If  he  went  out  that  afternoon  we  should 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    449 

be  surer  of  knowing  it  than  if  we  joined  the  crowds  in  the 
city.  At  the  junction  of  the  Pera  road  with  the  avenue 
behind  Dolma  Ba'hcheh  we  were  stopped  by  a  white- 
legginged  Albanian  with  a  Mauser.  This  tall,  fair-haired, 
hawk-nosed,  and  serious  young  man  saw  no  reason  why 
we  should  occupy  better  posts  than  the  rest  of  the  people 
—  happily  not  many  —  he  held  at  bay.  We  accordingly 
waited  with  them,  being  assured  by  the  inexorability  of 
the  Albanian  and  by  ihe  presence  of  gunners  mounting 
guard  beyond  him  that  we  should  not  wait  in  vain. 

In  front  of  us  a  wide  paved  space  sloped  down  to  the 
Bosphorus,  pleasantly  broken  by  fresh-leaved  trees  and 
a  stucco  clock-tower.  To  the  left  ran  a  tree-shaded  per- 
spective cut  off  from  the  water  by  the  white  mass  of 
Dolraa  Ba'hcheh.  Before  long  we  saw  three  steam- 
launches  pass  close  in  front  of  us,  making  for  the  harbour. 
A  few  minutes  later  a  cannon  banged.  Another  banged 
after  it,  another,  and  another,  till  we  could  doubt  no 
longer  that  what  we  had  been  waiting  for  had  really 
happened  at  last.  Then,  before  we  had  time  to  taste 
the  rushing  emotion  of  new  and  great  things,  a  small- 
arm  cracked  in  the  distance.  That  sharp  little  sound 
caused  the  strangest  cold  sensation  of  arrest.  More  rifles 
cracked.  People  looked  at  each  other.  The  soldiers 
began  feeling  for  their  cartridges,  their  eyes  on  their 
officers.  As  the  firing  became  a  fusillade,  and  drew  nearer, 
one  of  the  latter  made  a  sign  to  our  Albanian.  "Go 
back!"  commanded  that  young  man  fiercely,  thrusting 
his  musket  at  us.  There  was  an  instant  retreat.  Could 
it  be  that  reactionaries  had  chosen  this  moment  to  make 
an  attack  on  the  new  Sultan,  that  there  had  been  a  reply, 
and  that  battle  was  beginning  again  in  the  streets?  We 
had  not  gone  far,  however,  before  we  saw  men  shooting 
revolvers   into  the   air   and   laughing.     So  we   returned. 


450       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

not  without  sheepishness,  to  our  places.  We  were  just 
in  time  to  see  our  Albanian  discharge  his  rifle  with  the 
delight  of  a  boy.  The  volley  that  follovv-ed  did  not  last 
long.  "Who  told  you  to  fire?"  demanded  the  officer 
who  had  been  so  uneasy  a  moment  before.  "Eh,  the 
others  are  firing,"  replied  the  Albanian.  "Never  mind 
what  the  others  do,"  retorted  the  officer  sharply.  "We 
came  here  to  show  that  we  know  how  to  obey  orders. 
Now,  stop  firing."  His  soldiers  did,  although  the  city 
was  by  that  time  one  roar  of  powder. 

It  was  not  long  after  three  o'clock.  We  still  had 
nearly  four  hours  to  wait  before  Sultan  Mehmed  V  should 
land  at  Seraglio  Point,  proceed  to  the  War  Office  for  the 
first  ceremonies  of  investiture,  return  to  the  Seraglio  to 
kiss  the  mantle  of  the  Prophet,  and  then  drive  past  us 
to  his  palace.  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  other 
palace  on  top  of  the  hill  from  which  the  servants  had  been 
taken  that  morning.  The  boom  of  saluting  guns,  the 
joyous  crackle  accompanying  it,  must  have  gone  up  with 
cruel  distinctness,  through  the  still  spring  afternoon,  to 
the  ears  of  one  who  had  heard  that  very  sound,  on  the 
supplanting  of  a  brother  by  a  brother,  thirty-three  years 
before.  As  the  time  wore  away  our  Albanian  grew  less 
fierce.  The  light,  'unfortunately,  did  likewise,  until  all 
hope  of  snap-shots  failed.  I  then  took  my  place  at  the 
edge  of  the  avenue.  Finally,  toward  seven  o'clock,  a 
piqueur  galloped  into  sight  from  behind  the  wall  that 
hid  the  right-hand  stretch  of  the  street.  Behind  him, 
in  the  distance,  rose  a  faint  cheering.  It  came  nearer, 
nearer,  nearer,  until  a  squadron  of  dusty  cavalry  clattered 
into  sight.  After  the  cavalry  clattered  a  dusty  brougham, 
drawn  by  two  black  horses,  and  in  the  brougham  an  elderly 
man  with  a  double  chin  bowed  and  smiled  from  the  win- 
dows as  the  crowd  shouted: '' Padishah' m  chok  vasha-a-a!'* 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    451 

I  shouted  with  them  as  well  as  I  could,  not  stopping  to 
inquire  why  anything  should  impede  the  throat  of  an 
indifferent  impressionist  from  oversea,  at  the  spectacle 
of  a  fat  old  gentleman  in  a  frock  coat  driving  out  between 
two  disreputable  columns  of  cavalry.     They  made  a  ter- 


Photograph  by  W.  G.  M.  Edwards 

Mehmed  V  driving  through  Staniboul  on  his  accession  day,  April  27 

rific  dust  as  they  galloped  away  through  the  young  green 
of  the  avenue  toward  the  white  palace  —  dust  which  a 
condescending  sun  turned  into  a  cloud  of  glory. 


During  the  days  and  nights  of  flags  and  illuminations 
that  followed  there  were  other  sights  to  see.  One  of 
them  was  the  Selamlik  of  the  ensuing  Friday.  It  took 
place  at  St.  Sophia,  whither  Mehmed  II  rode  to  pray 


452      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

after  his  conquest  of  Constantinople,  and  where  popular 
opinion  willed  that  a  later  Mehmed,  after  this  mem- 
orable recapture  of  the  town,  should  make  his  first  public 
prayer.  About  this  ceremony  was  none  of  the  pomp 
that  distinguished  the  one  I  had  witnessed  the  week 
before.  A  few  Macedonian  Blues  were  drawn  up  by 
the  mosque,  a  few  Macedonian  cavalrymen  guarded  the 
gates  of  the  Seraglio,  and  they  were  not  all  in  place  by 
the  time  the  Sultan,  in  a  new  khaki  uniform,  drove  slowly 
through  the  grounds  of  that  ancient  enclosure.  Again, 
on  the  succeeding  Monday,  we  beheld  the  grisly  spec- 
tacle of  those  who  fomented  the  mutiny  among  the  sol- 
diers, and  who,  in  long  white  shirts,  with  statements  of 
their  names  and  deeds  pinned  to  their  bosoms,  swung 
publicly  from  great  tripods  at  the  scene  of  their  several 
crimes  —  three  at  the  Stamboul  end  of  the  Bridge,  five 
in  front  of  Parliament,  and  five  in  the  square  of  the  War 
Department.  And  the  new  Sultan  was  once  more  the 
centre  of  interest  on  the  day  he  was  girded  with  the 
sword  of  Osman.  He  went  to  the  sacred  mosque  of  Eyoub 
with  little  of  the  pageantry  that  used  to  celebrate  that 
solemn  investiture  —  in  a  steam-launch,  distinguishable 
from  other  steam-launches  only  by  a  big  magenta  silk 
flag  bearing  the  imperial  toughra.  From  Eyoub  he 
drove  round  the  walls  to  the  Adrianople  Gate,  and  then 
through  the  city  to  the  Seraglio.  His  gala  coach,  his 
scarlet-and-gold  coachman,  his  four  chestnut  horses,  his 
blue-and-silver  outriders,  and  his  prancing  lancers  were 
the  most  glittering  part  of  that  long  procession.  The 
most  Oriental  part  of  it  was  the  train  of  carriages  bearing 
the  religious  heads  of  the  empire,  white-bearded  survivors 
of  another  time,  in  venerable  turbans  and  green  robes 
embroidered  with  gold.  But  the  most  significant  group 
in  the  procession  was  that  of  the  trim  staff  of  the  Mace- 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    453 

donian  army,  on  horseback,  headed  by  Mahmoud  Shef- 
ket  Pasha.  Not  least  notable  among  the  conquerors  of 
Constanthiople  will  be  this  grizzled,  pale,  thin,  keen, 
kind-looking  Arab  who,  a  month  before  that  day,  was 
an  unknown  corps  commander  in  Salonica.     His  destmy 


Photograph  by  Apollon,  Constantinople 

Mehmed  V  on  the  day  of  sword-girding,  INI  ay  lo 

willed  that  hardly  more  than  four  years  after  that  day  he 
should  even  more  suddenly  go  again  into  the  unknown. 
His  fate  was  a  happy  one  in  that  it  overtook  him  at  the 
height  of  power  a  Turkish  subject  may  attain,  when  he 
was  at  once  Field-Marshal,  Minister  of  War,  and  Grand 
Vizier,  and  that  it  left  in  suspense  the  colder  judgment  of 
his  time  with  regard  to  the  actual  degree  of  his  greatness. 
Legends  and  hatreds  naturally  gathered  around  such  a 
man.      I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  true  that  he  took 


454       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

the  city  before  he  was  ready,  with  bareK^  fifteen  thou- 
sand men,  on  a  sudden  night  warning  that  the  desper- 
ate Sultan  plotted  a  massacre  for  the  next  day.  Neither 
was  I  there  to  see  whether  he  actually  sent  back  to  the 
new  Sultan  his  present  of  a  magnificent  Arab  charger, 
saying  that  he  was  a  poor  man  and  had  no  stable  for 
such  a  steed.  The  crucial  test  of  the  Balkan  War  he  had 
no  opportunity  to  undergo.  But  less  than  any  other 
personahty  discovered  by  the  Turkish  revolution  does 
he  need  the  favouring  kindness  of  uncertainty.  At  the 
moment  when  if  he  chose  he  might  have  been  dictator,  he 
did  not  choose.  And  the  decision,  the  promptness,  the 
tact,  the  strategic  abihty  with  w^hich  he  grasped  the 
situation  of  the  mutiny  and  threw  an  army  into  Cha- 
talja  before  the  bkmdering  mutineers  knew  what  he 
was  about,  made  for  him  the  one  clear  and  positive  rec- 
ord of  that  confused  time.  They  say  he  suffered  from 
an  incurable  disease,  and  captured  cities  for  distraction. 
I  had  the  honour  of  meeting  Mahmoud  Shefket 
Pasha  a  little  later,  in  compan}^  with  Mr.  Booth;  and  I 
owed  it  to  the  latter's  bandaged  head  and  to  the  interest 
which  the  general  took  in  the  wounded  journalist  that  I 
also  obtained  the  coveted  leave  to  visit  Yildiz.  Yildiz 
had  so  long  been  "a  name  of  legend  that  one  approached 
it  with  the  vividest  curiosity  —  even  though  the  inner- 
most enclosure,  jutting  out  into  the  park  from  the  crest 
of  the  hill  on  a  gigantic  retaining  wall,  at  first  remained 
impenetrable.  When  at  last  the  gates  of  the  Forbidden 
City  itself  were  opened,  it  w^as  strange  to  discover  that 
the  Sultan  w^ho  stood  for  all  that  was  conservative  and 
Oriental,  who  spent  as  he  pleased  the  gold  of  the  empire, 
who  might  have  created  anew  the  lost  splendours  of  the 
Seragho,  had  chosen  to  surround  himself  with  would-be 
European  cottages,  for  the  most  part  of  wood,  with  a 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    455 

profusion  of  gables  and  jig-saw  carpentry.  The  more 
ornate  were  those  intended  for  the  reception  of  ministers 
and  ambassadors.  The  simplest  and  the  largest  was  the 
long,  low,  L-shaped  structure  where  Abd  iil  Hamid  Hvcd 
with  his  extensive  family.  His  private  apartments  gave 
a  singular  picture  of  that  singular  man.  The  rooms  were 
all  jealously  latticed,  even  behind  the  fortifications  of 
Yildiz,  and  one  was  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  in  its 
use  from  another,  so  full  were  they  all  of  desks,  screens, 
couches,  weapons,  and  pianos.  In  one  of  the  least  am- 
biguous, where  white  chairs  stood  about  a  long  table,  was 
shown  the  gilt  Vienna  Recamier  in  which  Abd  iil  Hamid 
received  the  notification  of  his  dethronement.  An  or- 
chestrion filled  one  end  of  the  room,  where  also  was  a 
piano.  No  less  than  four  of  these  instruments  were  in 
another  room.  Farther  on  were  the  empty  safes  where 
the  old  man  hoarded  his  gold  and  his  famous  jewels,  a 
cupboard  of  ugly  tiles  that  was  a  mixture  of  Turkish 
hamam  and  European  bath,  without  the  luxuries  of  either, 
and  a  perfectly  appointed  carpenter's  shop.  It  is  an 
old  tradition  for  the  princes  of  the  house  of  Osman  to 
learn  some  trade,  in  case  their  kismet  should  suddenly 
require  them  to  make  their  own  hving.  One  chamber 
had  more  the  air  of  a  bedroom  than  any  other.  For  the 
Sultan  rarely  slept  two  nights  in  succession  in  the  same 
place,  or  undressed  to  do  so.  On  a  table  were  two  of  the 
bullet-proof  waistcoats  he  wore  at  Selamlik.  A  handsome 
case  of  arms  stood  by  the  door.  High  on  the  walls  hung 
some  crude  pictures  which  he  perhaps  painted  himself. 
He  was  fond  of  playing  with  the  brush.  A  canvas  some- 
where else  represented  a  boat  full  of  priests,  standing,  to 
whom  a  group  of  plump  pink  sirens  beckoned  from  an 
arsenic  shore.  The  officer  in  charge  told  us  that  the 
faces  of  the  priests  were  those  of  Alidhat  Pasha  and  other 


456       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

reformers.  \\  ith  all  their  oddity,  tlie  rooms  had  a  famil- 
iar air  of  habitation.  Things  of  use  and  of  ornament 
were  where  Abd  Cil  Hamid  dropped  them  tlie  night  he 
was  taken  away.  Writing  materials  were  strew^n  on  the 
desks.  A  photograph  of  the  German  imperial  family 
looked  out  of  a  gold  frame  set  in  brilliants.  In  a  corner 
stood  a  table,  a  chair,  and  a  footstool,  all  with  crystal 
legs,  w^here  the  Sultan  sat  in  tlumder-storms.  The  w  Iiole 
palace  was  full  of  small  human  touches  of  the  suspicious, 
ignorant,  lonely  old  man  who  lived  there.  And  East 
and  West  were  strangely  jumbled  in  his  well-worn  furni- 
ture, as  they  were  in  his  ancient  empire  —  as  they  were 
in  the  \isitors  inquisitively  trampling  the  carpets  and 
lingering  the  belongings  of  the  fallen  master  of  the  house. 
The  harem,  by  a  characteristic  piece  of  Oriental  re- 
serve, w^as  not  opened  even  by  its  despoilers  to  the  gaze 
of  the  profane.  But  we  were  allowed  to  go  into  the 
harem  garden,  overlooked  by  the  Sultan's  lattices.  An 
artificial  canal  wound  through  the  middle  of  it.  Row- 
boats,  a  motor-boat,  even  a  small  sailboat,  were  moored 
there.  Under  the  trees  stood  a  miniature  replica  of  the 
fountain  at  Gyok  Sou.  Pigeons  lluttered  everywhere 
and  water-fowl  were  playing  in  the  canal,  while  against 
the  wall  cutting  off  the  immense  prospect  the  garden 
might  have  enjoyed  stood  cages  of  gaudy  birds.  At  one 
spot  only  did  a  small  kiosk,  execrably  furnished,  give 
access  to  the  view.  Through  the  telescope  on  the  upper 
floor  Abd  iil  Hamid  used  to  w^atch  the  city  he  dared  not 
enter.  We  also  saw^  a  little  theatre  that  communicated 
by  a  bridge  with  the  harem.  In  this  bonbon  box  of  red 
velvet  the  singers  and  variety  actors  visiting  the  city 
used  to  be  invited  to  perform  —  sometimes  before  a  soli- 
tary spectator.  King  Otto  of  Bavaria  would  have  found 
no  kinship  with  him,  though.     On  the  wall  a  photograph 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE    457 

of  Arturo  Stravolo,   an   Italian  transformationist,   hung 
beside  a  large  and  bad  portrait  of  Vcrdi. 

Outside    this    inner    citadel    the    fabled    gardens    de- 
scended  to  the  sea.     Fabled  they  proved,   indeed  —  as 
some  city  park,  perhaps,  though  not  so  neatly  kept.     A 
driveway,  fabulously  dusty,  led  between  the  massive  re- 
taining wall  and  a  miniature  lake  to  Merassim  Kiosque, 
a  tawdry  little  palace  in  an  enclosure  of  its  own  which 
was  built  for  William  II  of  Germany.     I  threaded  a  tor- 
tuous  space,    at    one   end    of  it   not  quite  touching  the 
bastion  of  the  Forbidden  City,  where  a  small  iron  door 
in    the    kiosk    faced   a   small   iron   door   in   the   bastion. 
They    had    a    potency,    those    small    iron    doors,    upon 
the    imagination   of  a   romantic   impressionist.     Beyond 
stretched  courts  and  stables,  deserted  save  for  a  few  last 
activities    of    departure.     A    eunuch    was    giving    shrill 
orders  to  a  soldier.     A  drove  of  buffaloes  stood    mild- 
eyed  under  a  plane-tree,  waiting  to  be  driven  away.     A 
horse  whinnied  in  the  silence.     A  cat  lay  blinking  in  the 
sun,  indifferent  to  the  destinies  of  kings. 

On  a  slope  of  thin  shade  farther  on  were  grouped  an 
ornate  wooden  villa,  a  castellated  porcelain  factory,  ken- 
nels where  a  few  dogs  yelped  miserably,  and  enclosures 
for  all  sorts  of  animals  and  birds.  The  one  really  charm- 
ing part  of  the  park  was  the  ravine  behind  Chira'an 
Palace,  cool  with  secular  trees  and  the  splash  of  water. 
Nightingales  and  strange  water-fowl  had  their  habitation 
there,  and  some  startled  colts  galloped  away  as  I  de- 
scended a  winding  path.  The  look  of  the  paths,  neither 
wild  nor  ordered,  made  me  wonder  again  what  four  hun- 
dred gardeners  did  at  Yildiz.  I  suppose  they  did  what 
any  gardener  would  do  whose  master  never  came  to  see 
his  garden.  Chalets  and  summer-houses  with  red  seals 
on  their  doors  stood  among  the  trees.      I  went  mto  an 


458       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

open  lodge  beside  a  gateway.  A  bed  was  torn  to  pieces, 
clothes  and  papers  strewed  the  floor,  a  cut  loaf  and  an 
open  bottle  stood  on  a  shelf  as  if  dropped  there  in  some 
hasty  flight. 

There  was  a  point  on  the  hillside  whence  a  long  view 
opened  —  of  domed  Stamboul  and  cypressed  Scutari 
reaching  toward  each  other  across  an  incredible  blue, 
with  dim  Asiatic  mountains  in  the  background.  From 
the  height  above  he  must  often  have  looked  out  on  that 
scene  who  brooded  for  thirty-three  years,  in  silence  and 
darkness,  behind  the  wafls  his  terror  raised.  So  noble 
against  sea  and  sky,  so  vastly  spreading,  so  mysterious 
in  its  invisible  activities,  the  city  must  have  been  as 
redoubtable  to  him  as  his  bastioned  hilltop  was  to  the 
city.  And  I  could  not  help  imagining  how,  during  the 
days  so  lately  passed,  as  he  watched  the  city  that  feared 
his  power  and  whose  power  he  feared,  sounds  must  have 
come  up  to  him:  of  the  foolish  firing  he  ordered  for  the 
13th  of  April;  of  a  more  sinister  firing  eleven  days  later, 
when  he  waited  for  his  deluded  and  oflicerless  soldiers, 
shut  up  in  their  barracks,  to  save  his  throne;  of  that 
last  firing,  for  him  the  sound  of  doom,  proclaiming  to 
his  face  the  joy  of  the  distant  city  that  his  power  over 
it  was  no  more.    - 

As  we  went  away  a  line  of  buff'alo  carts,  piled  with 
nondescript  furniture,  began  to  creak  down  the  avenue 
where  the  imperial  guard  used  to  parade  at  Selamlik.  A 
Macedonian  gendarme  stood  in  the  great  arched  gate- 
way of  the  Palace  court  and  checked  them  as  they  passed. 
Behind  him  a  monkey  sat  in  the  coil  of  a  black  tail,  sur- 
veying the  scene  with  bright,  furtive,  troubled  eyes. 


XVI 

WAR  TIME 

1912-1913 

I.  THE    HORDES    OF    ASIA 

"The  hordes  of  Asia  .  .  ."  That  phrase,  fished  out 
of  what  reminiscenee  I  know  not,  kept  running  through 
my  head  as  the  soldiers  poured  through  the  city.  Where 
did  they  all  come  from?  On  the  night  of  the  3d  of 
October  the  streets  began  to  resound  portentously  with 
drums,  and  out  of  the  dark  the  voices  of  criers  called 
every  man,  Moslem  or  Christian,  married  or  single,  to 
leave  his  house  and  defend  his  country.  Then  the 
crowded  transports  began  to  stream  down  the  Bosphorus, 
sometimes  as  many  as  seven  or  eight  a  day.  Opposite 
each  village  the  whistle  blew,  the  men  cheered,  and  the 
people  on  shore  waved  handkerchiefs  and  flags.  When 
the  transports  came  down  after  dark  it  was  more  pictur- 
esque. Bengal  lights  would  answer  each  other  between 
sea  and  land,  and  the  cheering  filled  more  of  the  silence. 
It  somehow  sounded  younger,  too.  And  it  insensibly  led 
one  into  sentimentalities  —  into  imaginations  of  young 
wives  and  children,  of  old  parents,  of  abandoned  fields, 
of  what  other  fields  in  Thrace  and  Macedonia. 

The  hordes  from  the  Black  Sea  made  no  more  than 
their  distant  impression,  perhaps  no  less  dramatic  for 
being  so;  and  for  them  Constantinople  can  have  been 
but  a  fugitive  panorama  of  cypresses  and  minarets  and 

459 


46o      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

waving  handkerchiefs.  They  passed  by  without  stop- 
ping to  the  ports  of  the  Marmora.  Other  hordes,  how- 
ever, poured  into  the  city  so  fast  that  no  troop  train  or 
barracks  could  hold  them.  Hundreds,  even  thousands, 
of  them  camped  every  night  under  the  mosaics  of  St. 
Sophia.     At   first   they   all   wore   the   new   hay-coloured 


-^k^WE3li^sfc%i^  3" -i' '  1 !  1 

\% 

h» 

Arrivino:  from  Asia 


uniform  of  Young  Turkey.  Then  older  reservists  began 
to  appear  in  the  dark  blue  piped  with  red  of  Abd  iil 
Hamid's  time.  Meanwhile,  conscripts  and  volunteers  of 
all  ages  and  types  and  costumes  filled  the  streets.  It 
took  a  more  experienced  eye  than  mine,  generally,  to 
pick  out  a  Greek  or  an  Armenian  marching  to  war  for 
the  first  time  in  the  Turkish  ranks.  The  fact  is  that  a 
Roumelian  or  seaboard  Turk  looks  more  European  than 


WAR  TIME 


461 


an  Anatolian  Christian.  Nevertheless,  the  diversity  of 
the  empire  was  made  sufficiently  manifest  to  the  most 
inexperienced  eye.  The  Albanians  were  always  a  strik- 
ing note.  Hundreds  of  them  flocked  back  from  who 
knows  where,  in  their  white  skull-caps  and  close-fitting 
white  clothes  braided  with  black.     They  are  leaner  and 


Reserves 


often  taller  than  the  Turks,  who  incline  to  be  thick- 
bodied;  fairer,  too,  as  a  rule,  and  keener-eyed.  Some- 
thing like  them  are  the  Laz,  who  are  slighter  and  darker 
men  but  no  less  fierce.  They  have  the  name  of  being 
able  to  ride  farther  in  less  time  than  any  other  tribe  of 
Asia  Minor.  Their  uniforms  were  a  khaki  adaptation  of 
their  tribal  dress  —  zouave-jackets,  trousers  surprisingly 
full  at  the  waist  and   surprisingly  tight   about   the  leg, 


462      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

and  pointed  hoods  with  long  flaps  knotted  into  a  sort  of 
turban.  This  comfortable  Laz  hood,  with  slight  varia- 
tions of  cut  and  colour,  has  been  adapted  for  the  whole 
army,  I  shall  always  remember  it  as  a  symbol  of  that 
winter  war.  Certain  swarthy  individuals  from  the 
Russian    or    Persian    frontiers   also    made   a    memorable 


Recruits 


figure,  in  long  black  hairy  sleeveless  cloaks  and  tall 
caps  of  black  lamb's  wool,  tied  about  with  some  white 
rag.  They  gave  one  the  impression  that  they  might  be 
very  uncomfortable  customers  to  meet  in  a  blind  alley 
on  a  dark  night.  These  gentlemen,  none  the  less,  wore  in 
their  caps,  like  a  cockade,  what  might  have  seemed  to 
the  vulgar  a  paint-brush,  but  w^hat  was  in  reality  the 
tooth-brush   of  their  country.     Last   of  all  the  Syrians 


WAR   TIME 


463 


began  to  appear.  They  were  very  noticeably  different 
from  the  broader,  flatter,  fairer  AnatoKan  type.  On 
their  heads  they  wore  the  scarf  of  their  people,  bound 
about  with  a  thick  black  cord,  and  on  cold  days  some  of 
them  would  drape  a  houmous  over  their  khaki. 


Hand  in  hand 


Just  such  soldiers  must  have  followed  Attila  and 
Tamerlane,  and  the  roving  horseman  who  founded  the 
house  of  Osman.  And  just  such  pack-animals  as  trotted 
across  Galata  Bridge,  balking  whenever  they  came  to  a 
crack  of  the  draw.  The  shaggy  ponies  all  wore  a  blue 
bead  or  two  against  the  Evil  Eye,  and  their  high  pack- 
saddles  were  decorated  with  beads  or  small  shells  or 
tufts  of  coloured  worsted.     Nor  can  the  songs  the  sol- 


464      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

diers  sang,  I  imagine,  have  changed  much  in  six  hundred 
years.  Not  that  many  of  them  sang,  or  betrayed  their 
martial  temper  otherwise  than  by  the  dark  dignity  of 
bearing  common  to  all  men  of  the  East.  It  was  strange 
to  a  Westerner  to  see  these  proud  and  powerful-looking 
men  strolling  about  hand  in  hand.  Yet  it  went  with 
the  mildnfess  and  simplicity  which  are  as  characteristic 
of  them  as  their  fierceness.  One  of  them  showed  me  a 
shepherd's  pipe  in  his  cartridge  belt.  That  was  the  way 
to  go  to  war,  he  said  —  as  to  a  wedding.  Another  played 
a  violin  as  he  marched,  a  quaint  little  instrument  like  a 
pochette  or  a  viole  d' amour,  hanging  by  the  neck  from 
his  hand.  By  way  of  contrast  I  heard  a  regimental  band 
march  one  day  to  the  train  to  the  tune  of  ''Yankee 
Doodle." 

At  the  train  no  more  emotion  was  visible  than  in  the 
streets.     There  was  a  certain  amount  of  arranged  band 
playing  and  cheering  by  command,   but  the  men  were 
grave  and  contained  as  ever.     So  were  the  friends  who 
came   to   see   them    off  —  unless   they    happened   to   be 
Christians.     Nothing  could   have   been   more  character- 
istic than  the  groups  of  women,  muffled  in  their  black 
dominoes  and  generally  veiled,   who  stood  silent  while 
the  trains  went  out.     The  only  utterance  I  ever  happened 
to  catch  from  them  was  from  an  old  body  who  watched 
a  regiment  march  into  the  station.     "Let  them  cut,"  she 
said,  half  to  herself  and  half  to  those  about  her,  making 
a  significant  horizontal  movement  of  her  hand.     "Let 
them  cut!"     I  heard  of  another  who  rebuked  a  girl  for 
crying   on   a   Bosphorus   steamer   after   seeing   off  some 
member  of  her  family.     "I  have  sent  my  husband  and 
my  son,"  she  said.     "Let  them -go.     They  will  kill  the 
unbelievers." 

I   presume  similar   sentiments   were   expressed   often 


WAR  TIME 


465 


enough  by  men.  Why  not,  among  so  much  ignorance, 
and  at  a  time  of  so  much  resentment  against  the  unbe- 
liever? Yet  I  did  not  chance  to  hear  anything  of  the 
sort.  On  the  contrary,  I  was  struck  by  what  seemed  to 
me  a  distinctly  new  temper  in  Mohammedans.  Nazim 
Pasha  sounded  the  note  of  it  when  he  proclaimed  that 


Demonstration  in  the  Hippodrome 


this  was  a  pohtical,  not  a  holy,  war,  and  that  non-com- 
batants were  to  be  treated  with  every  consideration.  If 
the  proclamation  was  addressed  partly  to  Europe,  the 
fact  remains  that  in  no  earlier  war  would  a  Turkish 
general  have  been  capable  of  making  it.  It  may  be,  too, 
that  the  disdain  with  which  the  Turk  started  out  to 
fight  his  whilom  vassals  helped  his  tolerance.  Never- 
theless, as  I  somewhat  doubtfully  picked  my  way  about 
Stamboul,  wondering  whether  it  was  quite  the  thing  to 


466      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD  AND   NEW 

do  at  such  a  time,  the  sense  grew  in  me  that  the  common 
people  were  at  last  capable  of  classifications  less  simple 
than  their  old  one  of  the  believing  and  the  unbelieving. 
It  did  not  strike  me,  however,  that  even  the  uncommon 
people  had  much  comprehension  of  the  cause  of  the  war. 
If  they  had  I  suppose  there  would  have  been  no  war. 
"We  have  no  peace  because  of  this  Roumelia,"  said  an 
intelligent  young  man  to  me.  **We  must  fight.  If  I 
die,  what  is  it?  My  son  at  least  will  have  peace."  Yet 
there  was  no  particular  enthusiasm,  save  such  as  the 
pohtical  parties  manufactured.  They  organised  a  few 
picturesque  demonstrations  and  encouraged  roughs  to 
break  the  windows  of  the  Balkan  legations.  But  except 
for  the  soldiers  —  the  omnipresent,  the  omnipassant, 
hordes  of  Asia  —  an  outsider  might  never  have  guessed 
that  anything  unusual  was  in  the  air.  Least  of  all 
would  he  have  guessed  it  when  he  heard  people  exclaim 
Mashallah !  as  the  soldiers  went  by,  and  learned  that  they 
were  saying  "What  God  does  will!"  So  far  is  it  from 
Turkish  nature  to  make  a  display  of  feehng.  The  near- 
est approach  to  such  a  thing  I  saw  was  on  the  day 
Montenegro  declared  war.  Then  smiles  broke  out  on 
every  face  as  the  barefooted  newsboys  ran  through 
Stamboul  with  their  little  extras.  And  the  commonest 
phrase  I  heard  that  afternoon  was:  "What  will  be,  let 
be." 

II.  RETROSPECTIVE 

Did  any  one  dream,  then,  what  was  to  be?  Yet  one 
might  have  known.  It  was  not  a  question  of  courage 
or  endurance.  Nobody,  after  the  first  surprise,  doubted 
that.  The  famous  hordes  of  Asia  — they  were  indeed  just 
such  soldiers  as  followed  Attila  and  Tamerlane,  and  the 
roving    horseman    who    founded    the    house    of   Osman. 


WAR  TIME  467 

That  was  the  trouble  with  them.  They  had  not  learned 
that  courage  and  endurance  are  not  enough  for  modern 
warfare.  All  Europeans  who  have  deahngs  with  the 
Turk  know  that  he  is  the  least  businessUke  of  men.  He 
is  constitutionally  averse  to  order,  method,  promptness, 
discipline,  responsibility.  Numbers  and  calculations  are 
beyond  him.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  him  as  a  banker, 
a  financier,  a  partner  in  any  enterprise  requiring  initiative 
or  the  higher  organising  faculties.  He  simply  hasn't 
got  them,  or  at  all  events  he  has  never  developed  them. 
Moreover,  there  is  about  him  a  Hamlet-like  indecision 
which  he  shares  with  the  rest  of  Asia.  He  cannot  make 
up  his  mind.  He  waits  until  he  is  forced,  and  then  he 
has  usually  waited  too  long  for  his  own  good. 

I  could  fill  pages  with  anecdotes  that  were  told  me 
before  the  war,  illustrating  the  endless  dilly-dallying  that 
was  an  inevitable  part  of  every  army  contract.     Soldiers 
were   sent   to   the    front,    in    consequence,    with   serious 
deficiencies  in  their  equipment.     There  were  not  boots 
enough  to  go  around,  or  overcoats  enough,  or  knapsacks 
enough,  or  tents  enough.     Half  the  navy,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  winter,  was  in  white  duck,  simply  because  blue 
serge  comes  from  England  and  had  not  been  ordered  in 
time.     As  for  ambulances  and  field-hospitals,  there  was 
practically    nothing    of   the    kind.     Then,  although   the 
mobilisation  took  place  with  a  despatch  praised  by  for- 
eign critics,  it  became  evident  that  trains  were  not  getting 
away    with    anything    like    clockwork.     Regiments    left 
hours,    in   some   cases   days,    after   the   time   appointed. 
And  there  began  very  early  to  be  rumours  that  all  was 
not  well  with  the  commissariat.     A  soldier  whom  I  knew 
wrote  back  from  Kirk  Kil'seh,  ten  days  before  the  fatal 
battle,  that  he  and  the  members  of  his  company  lived 
like   dogs    in   the   street,    picking    up    food    and   shelter 


468      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

wherever  they  could.  We  heard  the  same  thing  from 
San  Stefano,  at  the  very  gates  of  the  capital.  And  at 
that  time  the  general  staff  of  the  army  was  quartered 
there.  They  apparently  had  not  read,  marked,  and  in- 
wardly digested  the  opinion  put  forth  at  a  memorable 
council  of  war  in  that  very  town  by  Enrico  Dandolo, 
Doge  of  Venice,  in  the  year  of  grace  1203,  when  he  said: 
"For  he  that  has  supplies  wages  war  with  more  certainty 
than  he  that  has  none."  Regiments  arriving  by  boat 
were  given  money  to  supply  their  own  wants,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  any  other  provision  for  them.  But  the  resources 
of  a  village  were  inadequate  to  feed  an  army,  and  many 
soldiers  went  hungry.  Bread  was  accordingly  baked  for 
them  in  Constantinople,  and  continued  to  be  throughout 
the  war.  Sometimes,  however,  a  bread  train  would  re- 
turn to  the  city  unloaded,  because  it  had  been  nobody's 
business  to  attend  to  it.  And  for  a  while  small  riots  took 
place  in  the  capital  on  account  of  the  shortage  in  the 
customary  supply.  The  thing  was  the  more  serious  be- 
cause bread  really  is  the  staff  of  life  in  Turkey,  and  no 
one  makes  his  own. 

In  spite  of  so  many  straws  to  show  how  the  wind  blew 

—  and  I  have  said  nothing  about  the  politics  that  honey- 
combed the  army,  the  sweeping  changes  of  personnel  that 
took  place  no  more  than  a  month  or  two  before  the  war, 
the  mistake  of  sending  first  to  the  front  untrained  reserves 
and  recruits  who  had  never  handled  a  rifle  till  they  found 
themselves  on  the  battle-field  —  the  speed  with  which 
the  allies  succeeded  in  developing  their  campaign  must 
have  surprised  the  most  turcophobe  European.  As  for 
the  Turks  themselves,  they  have  always  had  a  fatalistic 

—  a  fatal  —  belief  that  they  will  one  day  quit  Europe. 
Many  times  before  and  after  the  decisive  battles  I  heard 
the  question  uttered  as  to  whether  the  destined  day  had 


WAR  TIME  469 

come.  But  no  Turk  can  have  imagined  that  his  army, 
victorious  on  a  thousand  fields,  would  smash  to  pieces 
at  the  first  onslaught  of  an  enemy  inexperienced  in  war. 
They  forgot  that  the  flower  of  the  troops  of  the  conquer- 
ing sultans  came  from  those  very  Balkan  mountains. 

At  first  the  truth  was  held  back.  Long  after  Kirk 
Kil'seh  and  Luleh  Bourgass  and  the  loss  of  Macedonia 
there  were  men  in  Constantinople  who  did  not  know  or 
could  not  believe  the  facts.  The  case  must  have  been 
true  much  longer  in  the  remote  corners  of  Asia  Minor. 
When  the  truth  did  come  out  it  was  crushing.  The 
Turks  had  been  too  sure.  Hardly  an  officer  had  not 
promised  his  friends  post-cards  from  Sophia  or  Bel- 
grade or  Cettinje  or  Athens.  And  to  have  been  beaten 
by  the  serfs  of  yesterday!  But  I,  for  one,  have  hardly 
yet  the  heart  to  say  they  deserved  it.  I  remember 
too  wefl  a  bey  in  civil  life  whom  I  knew,  whose  face 
two  weeks  of  the  war  had  ravaged  like  a  disease,  and  the 
look  with  which  he  said,  when  I  expressed  regret  at 
the  passing  of  some  quaint  Turkish  custom:  "Every- 
thing passes  in  this  world."  I  quite  understood  the 
Turkish  girls  who  went  away  in  a  body  from  a  certain 
international  school  "We  cannot  bear  the  Bulgarians," 
they  said.  "They  look  at  us — "  It  was  character- 
istic, however,  that  they  presently  went  back.  One  did 
not  like,  in  those  days,  to  meet  one's  Turkish  friends.  It 
was  like  intruding  into  a  house  of  death.  But  in  this 
house  something  more  than  life  had  been  lost.  And 
I  pay  my  tribute  to  the  dignity  with  which  that  great 
humihation  was  borne. 

I  stood  one  day  at  a  club  window  watching  a  regi- 
ment march  through  Pera.  Two  Turkish  members 
stood  near  me.  "Fine  looking  men!"  exclaimed  one  — 
and  he  was  right.     "How  could  soldiers  like  that  have 


470      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

run  away?"  The  other  considered  a  moment.  "If  we 
had  not  announced,"  he  repHed,  "that  this  was  not  a 
holy  war,  you  would  have  seen!"  I  am  inchned  to  be- 
lieve that  there  was  something  in  his  opinion.  At  the 
time,  however,  it  reminded  me  of  the  young  man  who 
complained  that  the  Turks  had  no  peace.  They  were  no 
quicker  tO'  understand  the  causes  of  their  defeat  than 
they  had  been  to  understand  the  causes  of  the  war. 

Not  long  afterward  I  spent  an  evening  with  some 
humble  Albanians  of  my  acquaintance.  Being  in  a  way 
foreigners  hke  myself,  they  could  speak  with  more  de- 
tachment of  what  had  happened,  although  there  was  no 
doubt  as  to  their  loyalty  to  the  empire.  They  asked  my 
views  as  to  the  reason  of  the  disaster.  I  tried,  in  very 
halting  Turkish,  to  explain  how  the  Turk  had  been  dis- 
tanced in  the  art  of  war  and  many  other  arts,  and 
how  war  no  longer  required  courage  alone  but  other 
quahties  which  the  Turk  does  not  seem  to  possess.  I 
evidently  failed  to  make  my  idea  inteUigible.  Having 
listened  with  the  utmost  politeness,  my  auditors  pro- 
ceeded to  give  me  their  own  view  of  the  case.  The  one 
who  presented  it  most  eloquently  had  been  himself  a 
soldier  in  the  Turkish  army.  It  was  under  the  old  regime, 
too,  when  men  serv^ed  seven  and  nine  years.  He  attrib- 
uted the  universal  rout  of  the  Turks  less  to  the  incom- 
petence than  to  the  cupidity  of  the  officers.  He  beheved, 
Hke  his  companions,  and  I  doubt  if  anything  w^ill  ever 
shake  their  belief,  that  the  officers,  from  Nazim  Pasha 
down,  had  been  bribed  by  the  alfies.  What  other  possi- 
ble explanation  could  there  be  of  the  fact  that  soldiers 
starved  amid  plenty  and  that  Mohammedans  ran  — 
saving  my  presence!  —  from  Christians?  As  for  the 
European  ingenuities  that  I  made  so  much  of  —  the 
ships,  the  guns,  the  railroads,  the  telephones,  the  automo- 


WAR  TIME  471 

biles,  the  aeroplanes — why  should  the  Turks  break  their 
heads  learning  to  make  them  when  they  could  bu}'  them 
ready-made  from  Europe?  After  all,  what  you  need  in 
war  is  a  heart,  and  not  to  be  afraid  to  die.  My  Albanian 
then  went  on  to  criticise,  none  too  kindly,  the  Young 
Turk  officer.  In  his  day,  he  said,  most  of  the  officers 
rose  from  the  ranks.  They  had  been  soldiers  themselves, 
they  understood  the  soldiers,  and  they  could  bear  hard- 
ship like  soldiers.  The  Young  Turks,  however,  had 
changed  all  that.  T-hc  ranker  officers  had  been  removed 
to  make  room  for  young  mekteblis,  schoolmen,  who  knew 
nothing  of  their  troops  or  of  war.  They  knew  how  to 
wear  a  collar,  perhaps,  or  how  to  turn  up  their  mous- 
taches, a.  la  Guillaume.  But  they  didn't  know  how  to 
march  in  the  rain  or  to  sleep  on  the  ground,  and  when 
tho  Bulgarians  fired  they  ran  away. 

I  am  by  way  of  being  a  schoolman  myself,  and  I 
blushed  for  my  kind  as  I  heard  this  tall  mountaineer 
make  our  indictment.  What  could  I  answer  him?  I 
knew  that  in  many  ways  he  was  right.  The  schoolmen 
did  not  understand  the  fighting  men  as  the  rankers  had 
done.  Then  there  were  far  too  few  of  them  —  as  there 
were  too  many  fighting  men  of  the  kind  first  sent  to  the 
front,  whom  I  saw  being  recruited  with  handcuffs.  And 
there  had  not  been  time  to  establish  the  new  order  of 
things  on  a  sound  footing. 

III.  RED  CROSS  AND  RED  CRESCENT 

After  the  hordes  of  Asia  that  went  so  proudly  away  it 
was  a  very  different  horde  that  began  very  soon  to  trickle 
back.  No  bands  accompanied  them  this  time,  and  if  any 
of  them  had  had  violins  or  shepherds'  pipes  they  had  lost 
them  in  the  fields  of  Thrace.     It  was  pitiful  to  see  how 


472       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

silently,  almost  how  secretly,  those  broken  men  came  back. 
One  would  occasionally  meet  companies  of  them  on  the 
Bridge  or  in  the  vicinity  of  a  barracks,  in  their  grey 
ulsters  and  pointed  grey  hoods,  shuflling  along  so  muddy, 
so  ragged,  so  shoeless,  so  gaunt  and  bowed,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  believe  they  were  the  same  men.  Most  of 
them,  however,  came  back  in  the  night  and  were  not 
able  even  to  shuffle.  Two  or  three  pictures  are  stamped 
in  my  memory  as  characteristic  of  those  melancholy 
days.  The  first  of  them  I  happened  to  see  when  I  moved 
into  town  for  the  winter,  a  few  days  after  Kirk  Kil'seh. 
When  I  landed  at  dusk  from  a  Bosphorus  steamer,  with 
more  luggage  than  would  be  convenient  to  carry,  I  found 
to  my  rehef  that  the  vicinity  of  the  wharf  was  crowded 
with  cabs  —  scores  of  them.  But  not  one  would  take  a 
fare.  They  had  all  been  commandeered  for  ambulance 
service.  Near  the  first  ones  stood  a  group  of  women, 
Turkish  and  Christian,  silently  waiting.  Some  of  them 
were  crying.  Another  time,  coming  home  late  from  a 
dinner-party,  I  passed  a  barracks  which  had  been  turned 
into  a  hospital.  At  the  entrance  stood  a  quantity  of 
cabs,  all  full  of  hooded  figures  that  were  strangely  silent 
and  strangely  lax  in  their  attitudes.  No  such  thing  as  a 
stretcher  was  visible.  Up  the  long  flight  of  stone  steps 
two  soldiers  were  helping  a  third.  His  arms  were  on 
their  shoulders  and  each  of  them  had  an  arm  around 
him.  One  foot  he  could  not  use.  In  the  flare  of  a  gas- 
jet  at  the  top  of  the  steps  a  sentry  stood  in  his  big  grey 
coat,  watching.  The  three  slowly  made  their  way  up 
to  him  and  disappeared  into  the  archway.  Again,  a 
lady  who  lives  in  Stamboul  told  me  her  own  impressions 
so  vividly  that  I  remember  theni  almost  better  than  my 
own  —  of  trains  whistling  afl  night  long  as  they  came 
in  from  the  front,  of  city  rubbish  carts  rumbling  without 


WAR  TIME 


473 


end  through  the  dark,  and  of  peering  out  to  see  one 
under  the  window,  full  of  wounded,  with  refugee  women 
and  children  trudging  behind  in  the  rain. 

After  Liileh  Bourgass  there  was  scarcely  a  barracks 
or  a  guard-house  or  a  mosque  or  a  school  or  a  club  or 
an  empty  house  that  was  not  turned  into  an  impromptu 
hospitak  For  a  moment,  indeed,  the  resources  of  the 
city  were  swamped,  and  train  loads  of  wounded  would 
wait  in  the  station  for  hours  before  any  attempt  could  be 
made  to  unload  them.  Even  then,  thousands  must  have 
died  for  lack  of  care,  for  there  were  neither  beds  nor  nurses 
enough.  And  it  was  only  the  more  lightly  wounded 
who  came  back.  The  others,  in  the  general  rout  and  in 
the  lack  of  any  adequate  field-hospital  service,  died  where 
they  fell  —  unless  the  Bulgarians  took  pity  on  them, 
lo  either  case  no  news  about  them  was  available.  No 
casualty  lists  were  published.  I  doubt  if  any  one  knew 
how  many  hospitals  there  were.  Women  would  go 
vaguely  from  one  to  another  asking  for  Ali  or  Hassan. 
There  might  be  fifty  AHs  and  Hassans  in  each  one,  or 
five  hundred,  and  who  was  to  know  which  from  which? 

In  the  face  of  so  great  an  emergency  every  one,  Mo- 
hammedan or  Christian,  native  or  foreigner,  took  some 
part  in  rcHef  work.  A  number  of  Turkish  ladies  of  high 
rank  and  the  wives  of  the  ambassadors  had  already  or- 
ganised sewing-circles.  Madame  Bompard,  I  beheve,  the 
French  ambassadress,  was  the  first  to  call  the  ladies  of 
her  colony  together  to  work  for  the  wounded.  Mrs. 
Rockhill  gave  up  her  passage  to  America  in  order  to 
lend  her  services.  Although  our  embassy  is  much  smaller 
than  the  others,  a  room  was  vacated  for  a  workshop,  a 
sailor  from  the  despatch-boat  Scorpion  cut  out  after 
models  furnished  by  the  Turkish  hospitals,  and  the 
Singer  company  lent  sewing-machines  —  to  any,  in  fact, 


474       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

who  waiUcd  thcin  lor  this  humanitarian  use.  Shall  I 
add  that  America  had  a  further  share  in  these  operations 
in  that  the  coarse  cotton  used  in  most  of  the  work  is 
known  in  the  Levant  as  American  cloth?  Lady  Lowther 
organised  activities  of  another  but  no  less  useful  kind,  to 
provide  for  the  families  of  poor  soldiers  and  for  refugees. 
In  the  German  embassy  a  full-lledged  hospital  was  in- 
stalled by  order  of  the  Enijjeror.  At  the  same  time  courses 
in  bandaging  and  nursing  were  opened  in  various  Turkish 
and  European  hospitals.  And  Red  Cross  missions  came 
from  abroad  in  such  numbers  that  after  the  first  rush  of 
wounded  was  over  it  became  a  question  to  know  what  to 
do  with  the  Red  Cross. 

There  is  also  a  Turkish  humane  society,  which  is  really 
the  same  as  the  Red  Cross  but  which  the  Turks,  more 
umbrageous  than  the  Japanese  with  regard  to  the  Chris- 
tian symbol,  call  the  Red  Crescent.  Foreign  doctors, 
nurses,  and  orderlies  wore  the  Turkish  device  on  their 
caps  or  sleeves,  and  at  hrst  a  small  crimson  crescent 
was  embroidered  by  request  on  every  one  of  the  thou- 
sands of  pieces  of  hospital  linen  contributed  by  different 
branches  of  the  Red  Cross.  It  is  a  pity  that  a  work  so 
purely  humanitarian  should  in  so  unimportant  a  detail  as 
a  name  arouse  the  latent  hostility  between  two  religious 
systems.  Is  it  too  late  to  suggest  that  some  new  device 
be  found  which  will  be  equally  acceptable  to  all  the  races 
and  religions  of  the  world?  To  this  wholly  unnecessary 
cause  must  be  attributed  much  of  the  friction  that  took 
place  between  the  two  organisations.  But  I  think  it 
w^as  only  in  humbler  quarters  that  the  Red  Cross  symbol 
was  resented.  At  a  dinner  given  by  the  prefect  of  Con- 
stantinople in  honour  of  the  visiting  missions,  it  was  an 
interesting  thing,  for  Turkey,  to  see  the  hall  decorated 
with  alternate  crescents  and  crosses.     For  the  rest,  any 


WAR   TIME  475 

work  of  the  kind  is  so  new  in  Turkey  that  it  was  not 
surprising  if  some  people  failed  to  find  the  right  note. 
It  was  entirely  natural  for  the  Turks  to  prefer  to  care 
for  their  own  wounded,  when  they  could,  and  to  resent 
any  implication  that  they  were  incapable  of  doing  so. 
And  the  ignorance  of  tongues  of  the  foreigners,  with  their 
further  ignorance  of  Turkish  tastes  and  the  very  doubt- 
ful human  material  some  of  them  contributed,  gave  many 
just  causes  for  complaint. 

This  relief-work  marked  a  date  in  Turkish  feminism, 
in  that  Turkish  women  for  the  first  time  acted  as  nurses 
in  hospitals.  They  covered  their  hair,  as  our  own  Scrip- 
ture recommends  for  a  woman,  but  they  went  unveiled. 
Women  also  served  in  other  capacities,  and  something 
like  organised  work  was  done  by  them  in  the  way  of  j^re- 
paring  supplies  for  the  sick.  A  lady  who  attended  nurs- 
ing lectures  at  a  hospital  in  Stamboul  told  me  that  her 
companions,  most  of  whom  were  of  the  humbler  classes, 
went  to  the  hospital  as  they  would  to  the  public  bath, 
with  food  for  the  day  tied  up  in  a  painted  handkerchief. 
There  they  squatted  on  the  lloor  and  smoked  as  they 
sewed,  resenting  it  a  little  when  a  German  nurse  in  charge 
suggested  more  stitches  and  fewer  cigarettes. 

It  was  also  a  new  thing  for  men  to  volunteer  for  hos- 
pital w(^rk,  as  a  good  many  did  under  the  auspices  of  the 
Red  Crescent.  They  had  charming  manners,  as  Turks 
usually  do;  but  they  proved  less  elTicient  than  the  women, 
for  the  reason  that  the  Turk  of  any  breeding,  and  par- 
ticularly the  Constantinople  Turk,  has  no  tradition  of 
working  with  his  hands.  It  is  not  a  question  of  snobbish- 
ness. He  is  in  many  ways  more  democratic  than  we. 
He  treats  servants  on  a  greater  equality,  and  the  humble 
rise  in  the  world  even  more  easily  than  with  us.  But  it 
is  not  the  thing  for  him  to  use  his  hands  except  in  sport 


476       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

and  in  war.  He  is  far  too  dignified  a  being  to  carry  a 
tray,  for  instance,  in  the  presence  of  women  or  other  in- 
feriors. Add  to  this  his  natural  disincHnation  to  do  any- 
thing he  can  get  any  one  else  to  do,  and  you  coneeix  e  the 
difficulties  which  might  surround  the  attendance  ol  such 
a  helper. 

Difiiculties  of  another  kind  were  sometimes  experi- 
enced when  Red  Cross  and  Red  Crescent  doctors  were 
thrown  together.  Medicine  is  a  science  to  which  the 
Turks  rather  lean,  I  behcve,  and  there  are  excellent 
physicians  and  surgeons  among  them.  But  the  excel- 
lent man,  in  science  at  any  rate,  is  hardly  appreciated  in 
Constantinople  as  yet.  The  persuasive  man  has  the  lead 
of  him.  A  foreign  doctor  described  in  my  hearing  the 
"eminent  superficiality"  of  some  of  his  Turkish  col- 
leagues, who  had  the  graces  and  elegancies  of  diplomats 
and  spoke  French  perfectly  but  who  seemed  to  lack  the 
plain,  unvarnished,  every-day  essentials  of  surgery.  And 
some  sensitiveness  or  petty  jealousy  in  them  seemed  to 
make  them  wish,  although  there  was  work  enough  for 
everybody,  to  make  themselves  felt  wherever  their  foreign 
colleagues  were  at  work.  One  of  them  was  supposed  to 
supervise  the  operations  of  my  informant.  The  Turk 
was  very  agreeable,  and  interfered  as  little  as  possible, 
but  reserved  the  right  of  prescribing  whatever  medicine 
might  be  required  by  the  soldiers.  This  he  did  with 
great  zeal,  paying  small  heed  to  his  European  colleague's 
opinion  of  a  case.  But  to  ascertain  that  the  patient  took 
the  medicine  prescribed  he  considered  no  part  of  his  duty. 
Whole  boxes  of  pills  and  powders  were  regularly  found 
under  the  soldiers'  pillows,  where  they  poked  them  as 
soon  as  the  doctor  turned  his  back. 

The  barracks  and  guard-houses  allotted  to  some  of  the 
missions  were  Augean  stables  which  required  Herculean 


WAR   TLXIE  477 

efforts  to  clean  out.     It  was  the  more  curiously  character- 
istic l)ecause  even  the  lower-class  Turk  is  always  cleanly. 
His  ritual  ablutions  make  him  more  agreeable  at  close 
quarters  than   Europeans  of  the  same  degree.     I   have 
one  infallible  way  of  picking  out  the  Christian  soldiers 
in  a  Turkish  regiment:  by  their  nails.     The  Turk's  are 
sure  to  be  clean.     And  in  his  house  he  has  certain  deli- 
cacies undreamt  by  us.     He  will  not  wear  his  street  shoes 
indoors.     He  will  not  eat  without  washing  his  hands  before 
and  after  the  meal.'     He  considers  It  unclean  — as,  after 
.^11^  it  Is  _  to  wash  his  hands  or  his  body  in  standing  water. 
\\t  \ermln  he  regards  as  a  necessary  evil,  while  corporate 
cleanliness,  like  anything  else  requiring  organisation  and 
perseverance,  seems  as  yet  to  be  entirely  beyond  him. 

I  heard  of  a  case  In  point  from  one  of  the  great  bar- 
racks In  whleli  two  thousand  Invalids  were  looked  after 
by   ditlerent    missions.     The   men   were   plentifully   sup- 
plied with  everything  they  required,   but  after  the  war 
had  been  going  on  two  months  or  so  the  supply  of  linen 
began  to  fall  amazingly  low.     The  huge  establishment  was 
In  charge  of  an  amiable  old  pasha  without  whom  nothing 
could  be  done,  but  who  was,  of  course,  much  too  grand 
a   person   to   do   anything   himself.     He   asked   the   Red 
Cross  to  furnish  a  new  supply  of  linen.     The  Red  Cross 
took  the  llbertv  of  asking  him  In  return  If  his  old  linen 
had  been  washed.     He  replied  emphatically  that  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  it:  the  barracks  contained  a  perfect 
modern  laundrv.     Nevertheless,  no  clean  linen  was  forth- 
coming.    One  of  the  foreign  doctors,  therefore,  began  to 
explore.     He  finally  discovered  the  perfect  modern  laun- 
dry, stuffed  to  the  ceiling  with  an  incalculable  accumula- 
tion of  dirtv  linen,  not  one  piece  of  which  had  ever  been 
washed.     But    the    amiable    pasha    cried    "Impossible! 
when  he  was  told  of  these  facts.     And  he  either  did    not 


4-8       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

know  thcni  or  refused  to  take  onicial  cognisance  of  them 
until  two  ambassadresses,  whom  he  could  not  refuse,  led 
him,  one  by  either  hand,  and  made  him  stick  his  exalted 
nose  into  the  perfect  modern  laundry.     Shall  I  add  that 
that   launch y,    neither  so   modern   nor  so  perlect   as  the 
pasha  alhrmed,   was   finally  taken   in   hand  and   run  as 
long  as  the  Red  Cross  had  need  of  it  by  the  doctor  who 
discovered  it?     And  shall   I   further  be  so  indiscreet  as 
to  add  that  his  name  was  ALajor  Clyde  S.  Ford,  U.  S.  A.? 
Of  the  Turk  as  patient    I   heard  nothing  but  praise. 
And,  after  all,  there  were  many  more  of  him.      I  take  the 
more  pleasure  in  saying  it  because  I  have  hinted  that  in 
other  aspects  of  the  war  the  Turk  did  not  always  strike 
a  foreign  critic  as  perfect.      I  had  it  again  and  again,  from 
one  source  after  another,  that  as  patients  the  Turks  were 
perfect  —  docile  and  unconiplaining,  in  many  ways  like 
great  children,  but  touchingly  grateful.     It  became  quite 
the  thing  for  one  of  them  who  could  write  to  send  a  letter 
to  the  Turkish  papers  in  the  name  of  his  ward,  expressing 
thanks  to  the  doctors  and   nurses.     And   I   wish   I   had 
space    to    quote    some    of   those    letters,    so    charmingly 
were  they  worded,  with  such  a  Lincolnian  simplicity.     It 
must  have  been  a  new  and  strange  thing  for  most  of  the 
men  to  have  women  not  of  their  families  caring  for  them. 
They  took  a  natural  interest  in  their  nurses,  expressing 
a  particular  curiosity  with  regard  to  their  etat  civil  and 
wishing    them    young,    rich,    and    handsome    husbands 
when  they  did  not  happen  to  be  already  provided  with 
such.     But  I  heard  of  no  case  of  rudeness  that  could  not 
be  explained   by  the  patient's  condition.     On  the  con- 
trary, an  English  nurse  told  me  that  she  found  an  innate 
dignity  and  refinement  about  the  men  which  she  would 
never  expect  from  the  same  class  of  patients  in  her  own 
country.     Thev   often   had   a  child's  lack  of  realisation 


WAR   TIME  479 

why  one  should  be  allowed  what  another  was  not.  They 
smoked  much  more  than  children  should,  counting  more 
on  their  cigarettes  than  on  their  food.  They  were  also 
naturally  inclined  to  find  foreign  cooking  more  medicinal 
than  palatable.  But  they  were  rarely  disobedient  save 
when  spirits  or  opiates  were  prescribed  them.  Those  they 
often  steadfastly  refused  to  take.  Chloroform,  too,  thej^ 
sometimes  objected  to,  as  infringing  the  commands  of 
the  Prophet  with  regard  to  intoxicants.  Perhaps  they 
were  a  little  afraid  of  it,  suspecting  in  their  peasant's 
ignorance  some  foreign  trick.  I  even  heard  of  a  Turkish 
doctor  who  asked  a  foreign  surgeon  to  perform  an  opera- 
tion for  him,  i^ut  who  refused  to  allow  an  anaesthetic  to 
be  administered. 

I  am  not  fond  of  going  to  stare  at  sick  people,  but 
I  *  happened  for  one  reason  or  another  to  visit  several 
hospitals  and  I  brought  away  my  own  very  distinct  if 
very  hasty  impressions.  I  remember  most  vividly  a 
hospital  installed  in  a  building  which  in  times  of  peace 
is  an  art  school.  Opposite  the  door  of  one  ward,  by  an 
irony  of  which  the  soldiers  in  the  beds  could  scarcely  be 
aware,  stood  a  Winged  Victory  of  Samothrace.  Samo- 
thrace  itself  had  a  few  days  before  been  taken  b\'  the 
Greeks.  The  Victory  was  veiled  —  partly  I  suppose  to 
keep  her  clean,  and  partly  out  of  deference  to  Moham- 
medan susceptibilities.  But  there  she  stood,  muffled  and 
mutilated,  above  the  beds  of  thirty  or  forty  broken  men 
of  Asia.  I  shall  always  remember  the  look  in  their  eyes, 
mute  and  humble  and  grateful  and  uncomprehending,  as 
we  passed  from  bed  to  bed,  giving  them  sweets  and 
cigarettes.  The  heads  that  showed  above  the  thick  col- 
oured quilts  were  dressed  in  white  skull-caps,  for  an 
Oriental  cannot  live  without  something  on  his  hair.  It 
is  a  point  both  of  etiquette  and  of  religion.     Those  who 


48o       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

were  farther  on  the  way  to  recovery  prowled  mildly 
about  in  bagtjjy  white  pyjamas  and  quilted  coats  of  more 
colour  than  length.  Their  wearers  had  an  admirable 
indifTerence  as  to  who  saw  them.  A  great  many  had  a 
left  hand   tied   up   in  a  sling  —  a  hand,   I   suppose,  that 


CoiualebCciils 


some  Bulgarian  had  seen  sticking  a  gun-barrel  out  of  a 
trench  in  Thrace.  Some  limped  painfully  or  went  on 
crutches.  But  it  was  not  always  because  of  a  bullet. 
There  were  a  vast  number  of  cases  of  gangrene,  simply 
from  ill-fitting  shoes  or  from  puttees  too  tightly  bound 
which  hands  were  too  cold  or  too  weak  to  undo.  There 
were  fewer  resulting  amputations  than  would  have  been 
the  case  in   other  countries.     Manv  of  the  soldiers  re- 


WAR   TIME  481 

fused  absolutely  to  have  their  legs  cut  ofT.  Life  would 
be  of  no  further  use  to  them,  they  said.  I  heard  of  one 
who  would  not  go  maimed  into  the  presence  of  Allah. 
He  preferred  to  go  the  sooner  as  he  was.  And  he  did, 
without  a  word,  without  a  groan,  waiting  silently  till  the 
poison  reached  his  heart.  A  European  nurse  told  me 
that  in  all  her  long  experience  she  had  never  seen  men 
die  like  these  ignorant  Turkish  peasants  —  so  bravely,  so 
simply,  so  quietly.  They  really  believe,  I  suppose.  In 
any  case,  they  are  of  Islam,  resigned  to  tlie  will  of  God. 
After  death  they  must  lie  in  a  place  with  no  door  or  win- 
d<nv  open,  for  as  short  a  time  as  possible.  A  priest  per- 
forms for  them  the  hist  ritual  al^lution,  and  then  they  are 
hurried  silently  away  to  a  shallow  grave. 

IV.  RECONNOI  IKINC;     BY     !A\I 

The  war  correspondent  had  arrived  irom  Pekin  too 
late  to  go  to  the  front.  The  Iront,  howe\er,  seemed  to 
be  making  its  way  as  fast  as  it  could  to  the  war  corre- 
spondent. It  was  near  enough,  at  any  rate,  to  make  him 
feel  a  certain  independence  of  permits,  passes,  and  other 
pieces  of  paper  of  which  the  W  ar  Ollice  was  exceeding 
chary.  What  could  have  made  the  situation  more 
patent  than  that  a  war  correspondent  should  engage  a 
taxicab,  a  common  Pera  taxi,  striped  red  and  black  and 
presumably  not  infallible  as  to  its  mechanism,  and  should 
invite  an  amateur  and  a  British  resident  to  help  him  as- 
certain whether  the  Chatalja  lines  were  as  unapproach- 
able as  they  were  reported? 

Our  first  plan  was  to  strike  northwest  in  the  hope  of 
coming  out  somewhere  between  Hadem-kyoi,  the  head- 
quarters of  Nazim  Pasha,  and  the  forest  region  of  Derkos, 
which  local  rumour  had  lately  peopled  with  Bulgarians. 


482       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

I  may  as  well  say  first  as  last  that  this  plan  did  not  suc- 
ceed. Before  we  were  half-way  to  the  lines  our  road  pe- 
tered out  into  a  succession  of  quagmires  and  parallel  ruts 
with  heather  growing  so  high  between  them  that  it  threat- 


Stuck  in  the  mud 


ened  to  scrape  off  the  under  works  of  the  car.  Into  one  of 
the  quagmires  we  sank  so  deeply  that  only  a  pair  of  hairy 
black  buffalo  could  haul  us  out.  For  an  irresponsible 
amateur,  however,  the  attempt  had  its  impressions. 
The  most  abiding  one  was  that  of  the  Constantinople 
campagna.     It    undulated   to    the    horizon    so    desolate 


WAR  TIME  483 

in  Its  autumn  colour,  so  bare  save  for  a  few  tawny 
clumps  of  wood,  so  empty  and  wild,  that  no  one  would 
suspect  the  vicinity  of  a  great  capital.  We  met  almost 
no  one.  A  few  Greek  peasants  came  or  went  to  market, 
apparently  oblivious  to  wars  or  rumours  of  them.  Not 
so  a  convoy  of  Turkish  refugees,  toiling  up  a  hill  with  all 
they  had  in  the  world  piled  under  matting  on  ox-carts 
with  huge  ungainly  wheels.  We  ran  through  one  village 
inhabited  by  Greeks  —  Pyrgos  is  its  name,  and  a  fa- 
mous panayiri  is  held  there  in  August — who  gave  us  anew 
a  sense  of  the  strange  persistence  of  their  type  through 
so  many  vicissitudes.  Among  them  were  girls  or  women 
with  big  double-armed  amphoric  on  their  shoulders  that 
might  have  come  out  of  a  museum.  As  we  rammed  the 
furze  a  mile  or  two  beyond  we  saw  the  minaret  of  a  Turk- 
ish village,  and  heard  a  milezin  call  to  noonday  prayer. 
We  heard  a  shot,  too,  crack  suddenly  out  of  the  stillness. 
It  had  to  do  duty  with  us  for  an  adventure  —  unless  I 
mention  a  couple  of  deserters  we  met,  one  of  whom  drew 
his  bayonet  as  we  bore  down  upon  him.  Biil  I  must  not 
forget  the  fine  Byzantine  aqueduct  under  which  we 
stopped  to  kinch.  As  we  stood  admiring  the  two  tiers 
of  arches  marching  magnificently  across  the  ravine  we 
heard  a  sound  of  bells  afar.  The  sound  came  nearer  and 
nearer,  until  a  string  of  camels  wound  into  sight.  They 
took  the  car  as  unconcernedly  as  the  car  took  them,  dis- 
appearing one  by  one  through  the  tall  gateway  that 
Andronicus  Comnenus  built  across  that  wild  valley. 

Our  second  attempt  was  more  succcssfuL  It  led  us 
through  Stamboul  and  the  cemetery  cypresses  outside 
the  walls,  into  a  campagna  flatter  and  more  treeless  than 
the  one  we  had  seen  in  the  morning,  but  not  so  void  of 
humanity.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  the  city  the  refugees 
made  the  dominant  note,  with  their  clumsy  carts  and  their 


484       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

obstinate  cattle  and  their  veiled  women  and  their  own 
coats  of  many  colours.  Other  refugees  were  camped  on 
the  bare  downs.  The  children  would  run  toward  us 
w  hen  they  caught  sight  ol  the  car,  hiughing  and  shouting. 
Eor   them   war  was   a   picnic.      Farther  out   the  soldiers 


The  aqueduct  of  Andronicus  I 


were  more  numerous  than  the  refugees.  Every  time  we 
met  one,  at  first,  we  expected  to  be  stopped.  Some  of 
them  were  driving  cattle  and  horses  into  the  city.  Others 
were  going  out  with  carts  of  supplies.  Once  we  overtook 
a  dark  mass  of  redijs  making  in  loose  order  for  the  iso- 
lated barracks  of  Daoud  Pasha  —  where  the  Janissaries 
used  to  muster  for  a  European  campaign.  We  knew  them 
by  their  bkie  uniforms,  piped  with  red,  of  Abd  iil  Hamid's 
time.     They  looked  mildly  at  us  as  we  charged  them, 


WAR  TIME 


485 


and  mildly  made  room.  So  did  the  officer  who  rode  at 
their  head.  On  the  ascent  beyond  him  we  saw  two  men 
in  khaki  waiting  for  us.  We  concluded  that  our  recon- 
naissance was  at  an  end.  But  we  presently  perceived 
that  the  men  in  khaki  wore  red  crescents  on  their  sleeves 
and   carried    no   rifles.     They    merely   wanted   to   see   us 


Photographed  by  rrtdcrick  Moore 


Fleeing  from  the  enemy 

pass.     It  was  the  same  at  a  gendarmerie  station  a  httle 
farther  on,  and  at  the  aerodrome  behind  San  Stefano. 

Wc  found  the  road  unexpectedly  good,  after  the 
heather  and  quagmires  of  the  morning.  There  were  bad 
bits  in  it,  but  they  only  gave  us  occasion  to  bless  the 
French  syndicate  that  had  had  time  to  make  the  good 
ones  before  the  war  broke  out.  After  dipping  through 
one  wide  hollow  we  came  in  sight  of  the  Marmora.  A 
battle-ship  making  for  the  city  drew  a  long  smudge  of 


486      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

smoke  across  the  vaporous  blue  —  the  German  Goebtiiy 
we  afterward  learned  she  was.  On  the  low  shore  the 
Russian  war  monument  of  1878  lifted  its  syringe  dome. 
Through  all  the  region  behind  it  a  faint  odour  of  carbolic 
hung  in  the  air,  a  reminder  of  the  place  of  horror  that 
San  Stefano  had  become  since  cholera  broke  out.  We 
passed  a  ,few  dead  cattle.  A  huge  dog  was  tearing  at 
one  carcass,  a  creature  that  twilight  would  have  made 
a  hyena.  Some  new-made  graves,  too,  had  their  own 
story  to  tell. 

Suddenly,  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  we  came  upon  the 
sunset  picture  of  Kiichiik  Chekmejeh.  Below  us,  at  the 
left,  was  a  bay  into  \\  hieh  the  sun  was  dropping.  To  the 
right  stretched  a  shining  lake.  And  between  them  ran  a 
long  bridge  with  one  fantastically  high  and  rounded  arch 
that  looked  at  its  own  image  in  the  painted  water.  I 
would  like  to  believe  that  that  arch  is  the  one  mentioned 
in  the  epitaph  of  the  architect  Sinan  and  romantically 
likened  to  the  Milky  Way;  but  I  believe  the  true  arch 
of  the  Milky  Way  is  at  Buyiik  Chekmejeh.  The  viHage 
of  Kiichiik  Chekmejeh  —  the  Little  Drawbridge — made  a 
huddle  of  red-brown  roofs  at  the  right  end  of  the  bridge. 
As  we  ran  down  to  it  we  encountered  more  soldiers 
guarding  a  railway Jine.  In  front  of  us  a  cart  crossed  the 
track  with  an  empty  stretcher.  Near  it  two  men  were 
digging  or  filling  a  grave.  The  village  itself  was  full  of 
soldiers,  who  also  guarded  the  bridge.  We  skimmed 
across  it,  no  one  saying  a  word  to  us,  and  up  into  an- 
other high  bare  rolling  country  bordered  by  the  sea. 

We  decided  to  spend  the  night  in  Buyuk  Chekmejeh 
—  the  Great  Drawbridge  —  which  is  the  Marmora  end 
of  the  Chataija  lines,  and  in  front  of  which  the  Bulgarians 
were  supposed  to  be  massing  for  a  battle  that  might 
be  the  end  of  all  things.     Soldiers  grew  thicker  as  we 


WAR  TIME  487 

ran  on.  Presently  we  found  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  a 
camp.  Fires  were  burning  between  the  tents  and  sol- 
diers went  to  and  fro  carrying  food.  Then  we  looked 
down  on  another  picture,  in  composition  very  much  like 
the  first.  The  bay  and  the  lake  were  bigger,  however, 
and  we  saw  no  arch  of  the  Milky  Way  as  the  bridge  went 
lengthwise  below  us.  The  centre  of  interest  this  time 
was  a  man-of-war  and  half  a  dozen  torpedo-boats.  They, 
and  the  twihght  in  which  we  saw  them,  and  the  high 
black  shores  beyond^  had  an  unexpectedly  sinister  air. 
Nevertheless,  we  began  slowly  picking  our  way  down 
toward  an  invisible  village.  Soldiers  were  all  about  us. 
A  line  of  them  were  carrying  big  round  platters.  Another 
line  of  them  sat  beside  the  road,  in  what  I  ingenuously 
took  to  be  an  unfinished  gutter  until  the  war  corre- 
spondent called  it  a  trench.  We  began  to  ask  ourselves 
questions.  We  also  asked  them  of  a  soldier,  inquiring 
if  we  should  find  room  in  the  village  to  spend  the  night. 
He  assured  us  that  we  would  find  plenty  of  room:  every- 
body had  gone  away.  Oh!  And  where  were  the  Bul- 
garians? He  pointed  over  to  the  black  line  of  hills  on 
the  other  side  of  the  bay. 

We  decided  that  we  would  not,  after  all,  spend  the 
night  in  Biiyiik  Chekmejeh!  Our  taxi,  that  had  behaved 
irreproachably  all  day,  chose  that  inauspicious  moment 
to  balk.  W  hile  the  chauffeur  was  tinkering  with  it  an 
officer  rode  up  and  recommended  him  to  be  off  as  quickly 
as  possible.  That  officer  was  the  first  member  of  his 
army  who  had  addressed  a  question  or  a  remonstrance 
to  us  all  day.  The  chauffeur  stated  our  plight.  "Never 
mind,"  said  the  officer,  as  if  a  car  were  a  mule  that  only 
had  to  be  beaten  a  little  harder  to  make  it  move,  "you 
must  go  back.  And  you  must  be  quick,  for  after  six 
o'clock  no  one  will  be  allowed  on  the  roads."      It  was  then 


488       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

hall  past  [\\c.  And  \\c  realised  with  cxlicnu'  \  i\  idncss 
that  wc  wtrc  httuccn  the  lines  of  the  two  armies,  and  that 
our  lamps  would  make  an  excellent  mark  hjr  some  Bul- 
garian artilleryman  it  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  begin  the 
battle  of  Chatalja.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  obligingly 
waited  till  the  next  night.  In  the  meantime  the  car  made 
up  its  mind  to  go  on.  We  sputtered  slowly  up  the  long 
hill,  passing  lighted  tents  that  looked  cosy  enough  to  an 
amateur  bound  for  the  rear.  But  once  in  open  country  a 
tire  gave  out  and  we  lost  our  half-hour  of  grace. 

As  wc  coasted  down  the  hill  to  the  bridge  which  should 
have  been  of  the  Milk\  Way  our  lamps  illuminated  a 
hooded  giant  in  front  of  us.  He  barred  the  road  with 
his  bayonet,  saying  pleasantly  to  the  chaullciir: 

"It  is  forbidden,  my  child." 

"What  shall  wc  do?"  asked  the  chaulTeur. 

"In  the  name  of  God,  I  know  not,"  rejilied  he  of  the 
hood.     "But  the  bridge  is  forbidden." 

Personally,  I  did  not  much  care.  A  southerly  air 
warmed  the  November  night,  a  half-moon  lighted  it,  and 
while  there  was  not  too  much  room  in  the  taxi  for  three 
people  to  sleep,  still  the  thing  could  be  done.  The  Brit- 
ish resident,  however,  who  had  grey  hairs  and  a  family, 
asked  to  be  taken.to  the  oHTicer  in  command.  The  gentle- 
man in  the  hood  did  not  object.  The  British  resident 
was  accordingly  escorted  across  the  bridge  by  another 
gentleman  in  a  hood,  who  mysteriously  materialised  out 
of  the  moonlight,  while  wc  waited  until  our  companion 
came  back  with  his  story.  The  point  of  it  was  that  the 
officer  in  command  happened  to  know  the  name  and  the 
face  of  the  British  resident,  and  agreed  with  him  that,  if 
stopping  was  to  be  done,  it  should  have  been  done  earlier 
in  the  day.  The  colonel,  therefore,  let  us  through  his 
lines.     But  he  gave  strict  orders  that  no  one,  thereafter, 


WAR  TIME  489 

was  to  cross  the  bridge  of  Kuchuk  Chekmejeh  without  a 
pass  from  the  War  Ollice. 

I  forbear  to  dwell  too  long  upon  the  rest  of  our  return. 
We  fell  once  more  into  the  hands  of  sentries,  who  were 
somehow   softened    by   the   eloquence   of  the   chaufTeur. 
We  broke  down  again  and  hung  so  long  on  the  side  of  a 
hill  that  we  made  up  our  minds  to  spend  the  night  there. 
We  fell  foul  of  bits  of  road  that  made  us  think  of  a  choppy 
sea;   and,  in  turning  off  a  temporary  bridge  into  a  tem- 
porary road,  we  stuck  for  a  moment  with  one  wheel  spin- 
ning over  eternity.     We  passed  many  military  convoys, 
going  both  ways.     Our  lamps  would  Hare  for  a  moment 
on   a  grey  hood,  on  a  high  pack-saddle,  on  a  cart  piled 
with   boxes  or  sacks,   and   then  the  road  would   be  ours 
again.     Camp-fires  dickered  vaguely  over  the  dark  downs. 
Sometimes  we  would  overtake  a  refugee  cart,  the  head  of 
the  house  leading  the  startled  bullocks,  the  women  and 
children  walking  behind.     As  we  began  to  climb  out  of 
the  last  dip  toward  the  cypresses  and  the  city  wall  the 
road  became  one  confusion  of  creaking  wheels,  ol  tossing 
horns,   of  figured   turbans,  of  women   clutching  a   black 
domino   about   their   faces  with  one  hand  and  with  the 
other  a  tired  child.     Under  the  sombre  trees  fires  burned 
murkily,    lighting    up    strange    groups    of   peasants    and 
gravestones.     And  all  the  air  was  aromatic  with  burning 
cypress  wood. 

At  the  Top  Kapou  Gate,  where  Mehmed  II  made 
his  triumphal  entry  In  1453,  the  press  was  so  thick  that 
we  despaired  of  getting  through.  "It  Is  no  use,"  said  a 
peasant  when  we  asked  him  to  pull  his  cart  to  one  side. 
"They  are  letting  no  one  in."  It  was  true.  The  out- 
break of  cholera  had  made  precautions  necessary.  A 
line  of  grey  hoods  stood  outside  the  gate  and  kept  back 
the    carts  that   streamed   townward    more   thickly   than 


49()       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

ever  on  the  eve  of  Cliatalja.  But  our  infidel  ear  was 
allowed  to  enter  the  eity  of  the  Cahph,  allhou^^h  his 
true  ehildren,  fleeing  from  an  unknown  terror,  waited 
outside  among  the  graves.  Stamboul  was  almost  deserted 
as  we  sped  through  the  long  silent  streets,  save  for  an 
occasional  patrol  or  a  watchman  beating  out  the  hour  on 
the  pavement  with  his  club.  Twice  we  met  companies 
of  firemen,  pattering  half  naked  after  a  white  linen 
lantern,  with  their  lillle  hand-pumps  on  their  shoulders. 
Tluii  came  the  parallel  lights  of  the  new  bridge,  and 
(lark  Galata,  and  Pera  that  looked  never  so  urban  or  so 
cheery  after  those  desolate  downs. 

On  the  comfortable  leather  cushions  of  the  club  — 
somehow  they  made  me  think  of  tlu-  refugees  among  the 
cypresses  —  we  told  the  story  ol  our  day. 

"So,"  said  another  war  correspondent,  who  had  been 
lucky  enough  to  see  the  battle  of  Liileh  Bourgass  through 
the  eyes  of  a  lost  dragoman,  "you  saw  nothing  at  all?" 

"No,"  I  said.     "Nothing  at  all." 

V.  SAN    STEP  A  NO 

It  is  strange  how  San  Stefano,  in  spite  of  herself,  like 
some  light  little  person  involuntarily  caught  into  a 
tragedy,  seems  fated  to  be  historic.  San  Stefano  is  a 
suburb  on  the  flat  northwestern  shore  of  the  Marmora 
that  tries  perseveringly  to  be  European  and  gay.  San 
Stefano  has  straight  streets.  San  Stefano  has  not  very 
serious-looking  houses  standing  in  not  very  interesting- 
looking  gardens.  San  Stefano  has  a  yacht-club  whose 
members,  possessing  no  yachts,  spend  their  time  dancing 
and  playing  bridge.  And  a  company  recently  bought 
land  and  planted  groves  on  the  edge  of  San  Stefano  with 
the  idea  of  making  a  little  Monte  Carlo  in  the  Marmora. 


WAR   TIME  491 

I 

Whether  San  Stefano  was  trying  to  be  worldly  and  Ilght- 
mlndcd  as  long  ago  as  1203,  when  Enrico  Dandolo 
stopped  there  with  the  men  of  the  fourth  crusade,  I 
cannot  say  —  nor  does  Villehardouin.  Another  far-come 
army  to  stop  there  was  that  of  the  Russians,  in  i8"8, 
who  left  not  much  light-heartedness  in  San  Stefano.  In 
1909  the  events  which  preceded  the  fall  of  Abd  ill  Hamid 
turned  the  yacht-club  for  a  moment  into  the  parlia- 
ment of  the  empire^  and  the  town  into  an  armed  camp. 
Turned  into  an  armed  camp  again  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
Balkan  War,  San  Stefano  soon  became  a  camp  of  a  more 
dreadful  kind. 

I  did  not  see  San  Stefano,  myself,  at  the  moment  of 
its  greatest  horror.  When  I  did  g(j,  one  cold  grey  No- 
vember morning,  it  was  rather  unwillingly,  feeling  myself 
a  little  heroic,  at  all  events  wanting  not  to  seem  too  un- 
heroic  in  the  eyes  of  the  war  correspondent  and  the 
other  friend  he  invited  to  go.  I  did  not  know  then,  in 
my  ignorance,  that  cholera  can  be  caught  only  through 
the  alimentary  canal.  And  my  imagination  was  still  full 
of  the  grisly  stories  the  war  correspondent  had  brought 
back  from  his  first  visit.  There  was  nothing  too  grisly 
to  be  seen,  however,  as  we  landed  at  the  pier.  Chielly 
to  be  seen  were  soldiers,  coated  and  hooded  in  grey,  as 
usual,  who  were  transferring  supplies  of  dilferent  kinds 
from  small  ships  t(^  the  backs  of  small  pack-animals. 
The  correspondent  accordingly  took  out  his  camera; 
But  he  pretended  to  focus  it  on  us,  knowing  the  suscepti- 
bility of  Turks  in  the  matter  of  photograph} a  sus- 
ceptibility that  had  been  aggravated  by  the  war.  Seeing 
that  the  men  were  interested  rather  than  displeased  at 
his  operations,  he  went  about  posing  a  group  of  them. 
Unfortunately  an  enterprising  young  police  sergeant  ap- 
peared at  that  moment.     He  took  the  trouble  to  explain 


4()2       CONSTANTINOPLL   ULlJ    AMJ    M:\\ 

to  US  at  length  that  to  jjhotograpli  soldiers  like  that,  at 
the  pier,  with  hay  on  their  clothes  and  their  eaj)s  askew, 
was  forbidden.  People  would  say,  when  we  showed  the 
jirints  in  our  country,  "Ma!  That  is  a  Turkish  soldier!" 
and  get  a  wrong  ini|)ression  ot  hini.  I  he  impression  I 
got  was  of  his  size  and  good  looks  togetiier  witli  a  niild- 
ness  amounting  to  languor.  I  do  not  know  whetiuT 
those  men  at  the  j)ier  had  been  through  the  two  great 
battles,  or  whether  the  i)est-house  air  oft  lie  place  depressed 
them.  A  Greek  who  witmssed  our  discomiiture  came 
up  and  told  us  of  a  good  |)icture  we  could  taki-,  unmo- 
lested by  the  police,  a  little  way  out  of  the  village,  where 
a  soldier  sat  dead  beside  the  railway  track  with  a  loaf 
of  bread  in  his  hands.  W  i-  thanked  the  Greek  but 
thought  \se  would  not  trouble  him  to  show  us  his  inter- 
esting sub)ect. 

As  we  went  on  into  the  \illage  we  found  it  almost 
deserted  except  by  soldiers.  Every  resident  who  could 
do  so  had  run  away.  A  few  Greek  and  Jewish  peddlers 
hawked  small  wares  about.  A  man  was  scattering  dis- 
infecting powder  in  the  street,  which  the  wind  carried  in 
gusts  into  our  faces.  Patrols  strolled  up  and  down,  sen- 
tinels stood  at  dQors,  other  soldiers,  more  broken  than 
any  I  had  yet  seen,  shullled  aimlessly  past.  W'c  followed 
a  street  that  led  toward  the  railway.  On  the  sea  side  of 
the  line  we  came  out  into  an  open  space  enclosed  be- 
tween houses  and  the  high  embankment.  The  grass  that 
tried  to  grow  in  this  space  was  strewn  with  disinfecting 
powder,  lemon  peel,  odds  and  ends  of  clothing  —  a  boot, 
a  muddy  fez,  a  torn  girdle.  That  was  what  was  left  of 
the  soldiers  who  strewed  the  ground  when  the  corre- 
spondent was  there  before.  There  were  also  one  or  two 
tents.  Through  the  open  flap  of  the  nearest  one  we  saw 
a  soldier  lying  on  his  face,  ominously  stiU. 


WAR   TIME  493 

W'c  followed  our  road  through  the  railway  embank- 
ment. Sentries  were  posted  on  either  side,  but  they 
made  no  objection  to  our  passing.  On  the  farther  slope 
of  the  bank  men  were  burning  underbrusli.  A  few  days 
before  tlu^r  fellows,  sent  back  from  tlie  front,  had  I^een 
dying  there  of  cholera.  A  little  beyond  we  came  to  a 
large  Turkish  cholera  camp.  By  this  time  all  the  soldiers 
seemed  to  be  under  co\  er.  We  passed  tents  that  were 
crowded  with  them,  some  lying  down,  others  sitting  with 
their  heads  m  their  hands.  A  lew  roamed  aimlessly  in 
the  open.  The  ground  was  in  an  indescribable  condition. 
No  one  was  trying  to  make  the  men  use  the  latrines  that 
had  been  constructed  for  them.  I  doubt  if  any  (jne  could 
have  done  so.  Some  of  the  soldiers,  certainly,  were  too 
weak  to  get  so  far.  After  all  the\  had  gone  through, 
and  in  the  lellowship  of  a  common  misery,  they  \sere 
dulled  to  the  decencies  which  a  Mohammedan  is  cjuicker 
than  another  to  obser\e. 

Near  tin-  station  some  long  wooden  sheds  were  being 
run  up,  to  make  shelter  lor  the  men  m  the  tents  and  for 
those  who  were  yet  to  come  back  Ircjm  Hadem-kyoi. 
We  made  haste  to  be  by,  out  of  the  sickening  odour  and 
the  sense  of  a  secret  danger  lurking  in  the  air  we  breathed. 
We  crossed  the  track  and  \sent  back  into  the  \  illage, 
passing  always  more  soldiers.  Some  were  crouchmg  or 
lying  beside  the  road,  one  against  the  other,  to  keep 
warm.  I  could  never  express  the  shrunken  edect  the 
big  fellows  made  inside  their  big  overcoats,  with  dog- 
like  eyes  staring  out  of  sallow  faces.  Some  of  them  were 
slowh'  eating  bread,  and  no  doubt  taking  in  infection 
with  every  mouthful.  \  enders  of  lemons  and  lemon- 
drops  came  and  went  among  them.  Those  they  seemed 
to  crave  above  e\erything.  In  frcjnt  of  the  railway 
station  were  men  who  had  apparently  just  arrntcl  from 


494      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

Hadem-kyoi.  They  were  being  examined  by  army  doc- 
tors. They  submitted  like  children  while  the  doctors 
poked  into  their  eyes,  looked  at  their  tongues,  and  di- 
\ided  them  into  categories.  In  a  leafless  beer-garden 
opposite  the  station  tents  were  pitched,  sometimes 
guarded  by  a  cordon  of  soldiers.  But  only  once  did  a 
sentry  challenge  us  or  otherwise  otVer  objection  to  our 
going  about. 

Wc  finally  found  ourselves  at  the  west  edge  of  the 
village,  where  a  street  is  bordered  on  one  side  by  open 
fields.  This  was  where  until  a  few  days  before  hun- 
dreds, perhaps  thousands,  of  men  had  lain,  those  with 
cholera  and  those  without,  the  dyin^j;  among  the  dead. 
The  ground  was  strewn  with  such  debris  of  them  as  we 
had  seen  under  the  railway  embankment,  but  more 
thickly.  And,  at  a  certain  distance  from  the  road,  was  a 
debris  more  dreadful  still.  At  first  it  looked  like  a  great 
heap  of  discarded  clothing,  piled  there  to  be  burned  — 
until  I  saw  two  drawn-up  knees  sticking  out  of  the  pile. 
Then  I  made  out,  here  and  there,  a  clinched  hand,  a 
grey  face.  A  little  omnibus  came  back  from  somewhere 
in  the  fields  and  men  began  loading  the  bodies  into  it. 
The  omnibus  was  so  short  that  most  of  the  legs  stuck 
out  of  the  door.  Sometimes  they  had  stifTened  in  the 
contortion  of  some  last  agony.  And  half  the  legs  were 
bare.  In  their  weakness  the  poor  fellows  had  foregone 
the  use  of  the  long  girdle  that  holds  together  every  man 
of  the  East,  and  as  they  were  pulled  off  the  ground  or 
hoisted  into  the  omnibus  their  clothes  fell  from  them. 
We  did  not  go  to  see  where  they  were  buried.  There 
had  been  so  many  of  them  that  the  soldiers  dug  trenches 
no  deeper  than  they  could  help.  .  The  consequence  was 
that  the  dogs  of  the  village  pawed  into  many  of  the 
graves. 


WAR   TIME  495 

There  are  times  when  a  man  is  ashamed  to  be  alive, 
and  that  time,  for  me,  was  one  of  them.  What  had  I 
done  that  I  should  be  stroIHng  about  the  world  with 
clothes  on  my  back  and  money  in  my  pocket  and  a 
smug  feeling  inside  of  me  being  a  little  heroic,  and  what 
had  those  poor  devils  done  that  they  should  be  pitched 
half  naked  into  a  worn-out  omnibus  and  shovelled  into 
trenches  for  dogs  to  gnaw  at?  They  had  left  their  homes 
in  order  to  save  their  country.  Before  they  had  had 
time  to  strike  a  blow  for  it  they  had  been  beaten  by  pri- 
vation and  neglect.  Starved,  sick,  and  leaderless,  they 
had  fallen  back  before  an  enemy  better  fed,  better  drilled, 
better  ofTicered,  fighting  in  a  better  cause.  Attacked 
then,  by  an  enemy  more  insidious  because  invisible,  they 
had  been  dumped  down  into  San  Stefano  and  penned 
there  like  so  many  cattle.  Some  of  them  were  too  weak 
to  get  out  of  the  train  themselves  and  were  thrown  out, 
many  dying  where  they  felL  Others  crawled  into  the 
village  in  search  of  food  and  shelter.  A  few  found  tents 
to  crowd  into.  The  greater  number  lay  where  they  could 
through  wet  autumn  days  and  nights,  against  houses, 
under  trees,  side  by  side  in  fields,  and  so  died.  Out  of 
some  vague  idea  of  keeping  the  water  uncontaminated, 
the  sentries  were  ordered  to  keep  the  poor  fellows  away 
from  the  pubHc  drinking  fountains,  and  hundreds  died 
simply  from  thirst. 

The  commander  of  an  Austrian  man-of-war,  hearing 
of  this  horrible  state  of  affairs,  went  to  see  San  Stefano 
for  himself.  He  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  his  disgust 
and  indignation.  He  told  the  authorities  that  if  they 
wished  to  save  the  last  vestige  of  their  country's  honour 
they  should  within  twenty-four  hours  put  an  end  to  the 
things  he  had  seen.  The  authorities  did  so:  by  ship- 
ping several  hundred  sick  soldiers  —  prodding  them  with 


496       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

bayonets  when  they  were  too  weak  to  board  the  steamer — 
oil  to  Touzia,  on  the  Asiatle  side  of  the  Marmora,  where 
they  would  be  safely  out  of  sight  of  prying  foreigners. 
We  were  told  several  times,  both  by  residents  of  the  vil- 
lage and  I^y  outsiders,  that  they  were  actually  prevented 
from  doing  anything  to  help,  because,  forsooth,  the  sick 
men  had  betrayed  and  disgraced  their  country  and  only 
deserved  to  die.  I  cannot  believe  that  any  such  argu- 
ment was  responsibly  put  forward  unless  by  men  who 
needed  to  cover  up  their  own  stupidity  and  criminal  in- 
competence. How  could  human  beings  be  so  inhuman? 
Were  they  simply  overwhelmed  and  half  maddened  by 
their  defeat?  And,  with  their  constitutional  inability 
to  cope  with  a  crisis,  with  the  lack  among  them  of  any 
tradition  of  organised  humanitarianism,  were  they  para- 
lysed by  the  magnitude  of  the  emergency?  I  am  will- 
ing to  believe  that  the  diiferent  value  which  the  Oriental 
lays  on  human  life  entered  into  the  case.  In  that  matter 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  our  own  susceptibility  is 
exaggerated.  But  that  does  not  explain  why  the  Oriental 
is  otherwise.  Part  of  it  is,  perhaps,  a  real  dilTerence  in 
his  nervous  system.  Another  part  of  it  is  no  doubt  re- 
lated to  that  in  him  which  has  kept  him  behind  the 
West  in  all  practic-al  contrivances.  Human  life  was  not 
of  much  account  in  Europe  a  few  hundred  years  ago. 
And  in  the  back  of  the  Turk's  brain  there  may  be  some 
proud  Islamic  view  of  battle  and  dying  therein,  de- 
scended from  the  same  remote  Asiatic  conception  as  the 
Japanese  theory  of  suicide.  Certainly  the  Turk  fears 
death  less  and  bears  it  more  stoically  than  we.  Does 
that  give  him  the  right  to  think  less  of  the  life  of  his 
fellow  beings? 

The  Austrian  officer  raised  his  voice,  at  least,  for  the 
soldiers  in  San  Stefano.     The  first  to  lift  a  hand  was  a 


WAR  TIME  497 

Swiss  lady  of  the  place.     Her  name  has  been  pronounced 
so    often   that   I   shall   not  seem  yellow-journahstic  if  I 
mention  it  again.     Almost  every  resident  who  could  pos- 
sibly leave  San  Stefano  had  already  done  so.     Friiulein 
Alt,    however,    remained.     She   carried   the   soldiers   the 
water    from    which    the    sentries    kept    them.     She    also 
made  soup  in  her  own  house  and  took  it  to  the  weakest, 
comforting  as  best  she  could  their  dying  moments.     It 
was,  of  course,  very   little  that- she  could  do  among  so 
many.     But  she  was  the  first  who   dared  to  do  it.     She 
was    soon    joined    by    another    lady   of  the  place,    Frau 
Schneider.      And   presently   a   few    Europeans    from   the 
city  helped  them  make  a  beginning  of  relief-work  on  a 
larger  scale.     One  of  the  new  recruits  was  a  woman  also, 
Miss  Graham,  of  the  Scotch  mission  to  the  Jews.     The 
others  were  Rev.  Robert  Frew,  the  Scotch  clergyman  of 
Pera;  Mr.  Hotfman  Philip,  first  secretary  of  the  American 
embassy;  and  two  gentlemen  who  had  come  to  Constan- 
tinople for  the  war,  the    English  writer  Maurice   Baring, 
and    Major    Ford,   whom    I    have  already   mentioned,   of 
our    own    army    medical    staff.     English    and    American 
friends  and  the  American  Red  Cross  contributed  help  in 
other  ways  and  obtained  that  of  the  authorities.     These 
half-dozen    good   Samaritans   left   their   own   affairs   and 
did  what  they  could  to  make  a  hospital  out  of  a  Greek 
school  into  which  sick  soldiers  had  been  turned.     It  was 
a  heroic  thing  to  do,  for  at  that  time  no  one  knew  that 
the  men  were  chiefly  suffering  from  dysentery  brought 
on  by  privation,  and  Red  Cross  missions  were  hesitating 
to  go.     Moreover   the   sanitary  conditions  of  the  school 
were  appalling.     Six  hundred  men  were  lying  there  on 
the  filthy  and  infected  floor,  as  well  as  in  a  shed  which 
was  the  rainy-day  playground  of  the  school,  and  in  a  few 
tents  in  the  vard.     Some  of  the  soldiers  had  been  dead 


4u8       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

two  or  three  clays.  Many  of  them  were  dying.  None 
of  them  had  had  any  food  besides  the  intermittent  bread 
of  the  munieipahly,  or  any  eare  sa\e  sueh  as  Friiiilem 
Ah   had  been  able  to  gixe  tliem. 

I  fell  not  e\en  a  httle  heroie  by  the  time  I  went  into 
the  }  ard  of  this  sehool,  next  the  held  w  here  the  heap  of 


Photograph  by  Frederick  Moore 


Cholera 


dead  soldiers  lay,  and  saw  these  voluntary  exiles  coming 
and  going  in  their  oilskins,  I  felt  rather  how  rarely,  in  our 
padded  modern  world,  is  it  given  a  man  to  come  down  to 
the  primal  facts  of  hfe.  This  reflection,  I  think,  came  to 
me  from  the  smart  tan  gloves  which  one  of  the  Samaritans 
wore,  and  which,  associating  theni  as  I  could  with  em- 
bassies and  I  know  not  what  of  the  gaieties  of  life,  looked 
so  honourably  incongruous  in  that  dreadful  work.     The 


WAR  TIME  499 

correspondent,  of  course,  was  under  orders  to  take  photo- 
graphs-   but   his   camera  looked  incongruous  m  anothcr 
way  in' the  face  of  realities  so  horrible  —  impertuient,  I 
might  sav,  if  I  did  not  happen  to  like  the  correspondent. 
A  soldier^  lurched  out  of  the  school  with  the  gait  and  in 
the   necessity   characteristic   of  his   disease.     He  looked 
about,  half  dazed,  and  established  himself  at  the  foot  of 
a  tree    his  hands  clasped  in  front  of  his  knees,  his  head 
sunk  forward  on   his   breast.     Other  soldiers  came  and 
went  in  the  yard,  some  in  their  worn  khaki,  some  in  their 
big  grey  coats  and  hoods.     One  began  to  rummage  in 
the  circle  of  debris  which  marked  the  place  of  a  recent 
tent       He  picked  up  a  purse  —  one  of  the  knitted  bags 
which   the   people   of  Turkey    use  -  unwound   the   long 
strincr,  looked  inside,  turned  the  purse  inside  out,  and  put 
it  into  his  pocket.     An  older  man  came  up  to  one  of  my 
companions.     "My    hands   are   cold,"    ^e   said       and    I 
can't  feel  anything  with  them.     W  hat  shall  I  do?        W  e 
also  wore  hats  and  spoke  strange  tongues,  like  the  mir- 
acle-workers within:  the  poor   fellow   thought   we  could 
perform  a  miracle  for  him.     As  we  did  not  he  started  to 
go  into  the  street,  but  the  sentry  at  the  gate  stopped  hun. 
Two  orderlies  came  out  of  the  school  carrying  a  stretcher 
A  dead   man   lay   on   It,   under  a  blanket.     The  wasted 
body  raised  hardly  more  of  the  blanket  than  that  ol  a 

child.  ,  ,.  ...  , 

When  we  went  away  the  sick  soldier  was  still  crouch- 
ing at  the  foot  of  his  tree,  his  hands  clasped  about  his 
knees  and  his  head  sunken  on  his  breast. 


.-oo      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 


VI,  — ^THE    POM  111"    OF-^    THE    EAST 

The  incIclc'iUsoi  the  Balkan  War  monopolised  so  nuieh 
interest  that  another  Ineiclent  of  those  cla\s  in  Constan- 
tinople attracted  less  attention.  It  is,  perhaps,  natural 
that  those  not  on  the  ground  should  have  small  under- 
standing of  the  part  the  Eeumenieal  Patriarchate  has 
played  in  the  politics  of  Turkey.  In  the  Levant,  ho\ve\  er, 
the  death  of  His  All-Holiness  Joachim  III,  Patriarch  of 
Constantinople  and  ranking  prelate  of  the  Greek  Ortho- 
dox Church,  was  an  event  no  less  important  than  in  the 
West  would  be  the  death  of  the  Pope.  And  for  those  of 
his  spiritual  Hock,  as  for  many  outside  it,  the  disappear- 
ance, at  such  a  moment,  of  that  remarkable  personality, 
together  with  the  circumstances  of  his  funeral,  were  a 
part  of  the  larger  aspects  of  the  war. 

The  organisation  of  the  Eastern  church  is  far  less 
centralised  than  that  of  the  Western,  and  the  political 
relations  of  the  countries  in  which  it  holds  sway  have 
tended  to  keep  it  so.  There  are  three  other  Patriarchs 
within  the  Turkish  empire  —  in  Alexandria,  Antioch,  and 
Jerusalem  —  while  the  churches  of  Bulgaria,  Greece,  Mon- 
tenegro, Rou mania,  Russia,  and  Servia,  as  well  as  of 
the  Orthodox  populations  of  Austria-Hungary,  are  inde- 
pendent of  Constantinople.  One  of  these  churches,  the 
Bulgarian,  has  been  excommunicated  by  the  Patriarch- 
ate. Over  two  others  only,  those  of  Greece  and  Servia, 
does  the  Phanar  maintain  so  much  authority  as  to  pro- 
vide them  with  the  oils  for  the  sacrament  of  the  Holy 
Chrism.  But  the  Patriarch  of  Constantinople  enjoys 
dignities  accorded  to  no  other  primate  of  his  faith,  and 
as  spiritual  chief  of  the  Greeks  of  Turkey  he  exercises 
much  of  the  temporal  power  claimed  by  the  Pope.  The 
autocephalous    sister    churches,    moreover,    acknowledge 


WAR  TIME 


501 


his  spiritual  supremacy,  and  have  usually  been  careful 
to  avoid  the  name  of  patriarch  in  their  own  hierarchies. 
And  to  his  throne  attaches  all  the  prestige  of  its  ancient 
history.  That  history,  reaching  back  without  a  break 
to  the  time  of  Constantine,  has  not  yet  found  its  V^on 


/\ 

Photograph  by  Andriomenos,  Constantinople 

Joachim  III,  Patriarch  of  Constantinople 


Ranke.  The  schism  of  East  and  \\  est  and  the  political 
as  well  as  the  religious  relation  of  Western  Christianity 
to  Rome  has  caused  Constantinople  to  be  neglected  by 
Western  scholars.  But  if  the  Patriarchate  can  boast  no 
such  brilliant  period  as  that  of  the  papacy  during  the 
Renaissance,  its  closer  association  with  the  establishment 
and  early  development  of  the  church,  and  with  the  lands 
where  Christianity  originated,  gives  it  an  interest  which 
the  papacy  can  never  claim. 


^oi       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

When  the  Roman  Empire  came  to  an  end  and  every 
Greek  Ortliodox  country  except  Russia  was  overrun  by 
the  Turks,  the  Patriarchate  did  not  cease  to  play  a  great 
role.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  be^an  to  play  a  greater  one 
than  for  many  centuries  before.  It  would  be  a  study 
worth  undertaking  to  determine  tlie  part  the  Patriarchs 
have  acted  in  the  grachial  release  from  Ishim  of  Ortli(xlo\ 
Christendom.  The  weaj)on  lor  this  release  was  given 
them  by  the  Concjueror  liimself.  On  the  ist  of  June, 
1453,  three  days  after  Melimed  II  stormed  the  city,  he 
ordered  the  clergy  left  in  Constantinople  to  elect  a  suc- 
cessor to  the  kite  Patriarch  and  to  consecrate  him  accord- 
ing to  tlie  historic  i^rocichire.  The  candidate  chosen  was 
the  learned  monk  Gennadius,  otherwise  known  as  George 
Schohirius,  of  the  monastery  of  the  I-^antocrator.  This 
was  where  the  Venetians  had  their  headcjuarters  during 
the  Latin  occupation,  and  the  palace  of  tlie  Balio  wliich 
tlie  Genoese  jDulled  down  in  1261  seems  to  have  been  a 
part  ol  the  nionasterx.  Its  great  triple  church,  now 
known  as  Zeirek  kil'seh  Jami,  was  where  the  \  enetians 
put  the  icon  of  the  Shower  of  the  Way  when  they  stoic 
it  from  St.  Sophia.  Other  relics  of  the  church  are  now 
in  the  treasury  of  St.  Mark's.  I  do  not  know  whether 
the  portrait  of  Gennadius  is  to  be  seen  in  the  Riccardi 
Chapel  at  Florence,  where  Benozzo  Gozzoli  painted  his 
delightful  fresco  of  the  Three  Kings  and  put  so  many 
faces  of  noted  men  of  his  time.  One  of  the  Three  Kings 
is  none  other  than  John  VII  Palaeologus,  whom  Genna- 
dius accompanied  in  1438  to  the  Council  of  Ferrara  in  an 
attempt  to  bring  about  the  reunion  of  the  churches.  In 
1452,  however,  Gennadius  defeated  the  last  effort  to 
reconcile  the  two  rites,  and  he  bec>ame  the  first  Patriarch 
under  the  regime  which,  as  the  catchword  of  the  day  had 
it,  preferred  the  turban  of  the  Turk  to  the  tiara  of  the 


WAR   TIME 


503 


Pope.  In  the  ceremony  of  his  investiture  the  Sultan 
played  the  part  formerly  enacted  by  the  Greek  emperor, 
with  the  sole  exception  of  receiving  the  communion  from 


The  south  j)uli)it  (A  the  Pantocrator 


the  hands  ol  the  new  pontiff.  The  Conqueror  then  in- 
vited Gennadius  to  a  private  audience,  at  which  he  re- 
ceived him  with  every  distinction.  When  the  Patri- 
arch took  Iea\e  the  young  Sultan  presented  him  with  a 


5()4       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

jewelled  staff  of  ofTice,  and  said:  "Be  Patriarch,  and  may 
Heaven  guide  you.  Do  not  hesitate  to  rely  on  my  friend- 
ship. Enjoy  all  the  rights  and  privileges  which  your 
predecessors  have  enjoyed."  He  then  accompanied  his 
guest  to  the  outer  gate,  ordering  the  highest  dignitaries 
of  his  own  suite  to  accompany  His  AII-HoHness  to  the 
Patriarchate.  Which  was  done,  the  Patriarch  riding  one 
of  the  Sultan's  finest  horses.  The  Conqueror  afterward 
confirmed  his  words  in  writing,  making  inviolable  the  per- 
son of  the  Patriarch,  and  confirming  the  Greeks  in  the 
possession  of  their  churches  and  their  cult.  Thus  the 
Greek  Patriarch  is  one  of  the  greater  dignitaries  of  the 
Ottoman  Empire.  He  ranks  immediately  after  the  mem- 
bers of  the  cabinet,  taking  precedence  of  every  Moham- 
medan cleric  except  a  Shei'h  iil  Islam  in  office. 

We  have  already  seen  how  the  Sultan  made  similar 
concessions  in  favour  of  the  Latins  of  Galata.  These 
two  acts,  purely  voluntary,  created  the  precedent  for 
the  status  of  non-Moslems  in  the  Ottoman  Empire. 
This  status  is  one  of  the  most  peculiar  features  of  Turkish 
polity.  The  Armenians,  the  Greeks,  the  Jews,  the  Le- 
vantine Catholics,  and  various  other  fractions  of  races  and 
religions  form  each  what  is  called  in  Turkish  a  millet  —  a 
nation.  Each  has  its  own  spiritual  head,  who  also  exer- 
cises jurisdiction  in  all  temporal  matters  of  his  flock  that 
concern  marriage,  the  family,  and  education.  Similarly, 
those  who  are  not  Ottoman  subjects  enjoy  rights  and 
privileges  w^hich  no  Western  country  would  tolerate  for 
one  moment.  This  is  in  virtue  of  the  capitulations 
granted  by  early  sultans,  partly  out  of  magnanimity, 
partly  out  of  disdain.  The  Conqueror  has  been  praised 
for  his  generosity  and  statesmanship  in  granting  these 
concessions.  From  the  Christian  point  of  view  he  may 
deserve  praise.     But  if  I  were  a  Turk  I  would  be  more 


c 


>. 


o 


-^     P, 


WAR   TIME  507 

Inclined  to  denounce  his  youth  and  lack  of  foresight  for 
creating  conditions  that  entailed  the  ruin  of  the  empire. 
He  did  not,  it  is  true,  altogether  create  those  conditions. 
The  Byzantine  emperors,  who  ruled  an  empire  more 
diverse  than  his  own,  set  the  example  which  Mchmed  II 
followed.  But  if  he  had  shown  less  mercy  as  a  conqueror 
or  less  deference  as  a  newcomer  among  old  institutions,  if 
he  had  cleared  the  Christians  out  or  forced  them  to  accept 
all  the  consequences  of  the  conquest,  he  would  have  spared 
his  successors  many  a  painful  problem.  He  might  even 
have  assimilated  a  hopelessly  heterogeneous  population, 
and  his  flag  might  fly  to-day  on  the  shore  of  the  Adriatic. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  the  Turks  lived  to  regret  the  poHcy 
of  the  Conqueror.  The  whole  history  of  the  Patriarchate 
during  the  Turkish  j)eri()d  has  Ix'cn  one  of  constant  en- 
croachment on  its  privileges  and  constant  attempts  to 
preserve  them.  During  this  long  struggle  not  even  the 
person  of  the  Patriarch  has  always  been  safe.  At  least 
four  have  met  violent  deaths  at  the  hands  of  the  Turks. 
The  hist  was  Gregory  V,  who,  in  revenge  for  the  part 
pLayed  by  the  Phanariotes  in  the  Greek  revolution,  was 
hanged  on  Easter  morning  of  1822  in  the  gateway  of  his 
own  pahice.  This  gate,  at  the  top  of  a  re-entering  llight 
of  steps,  has  never  since  been  opened.  The  Conqueror 
himself,  having  already  seized  the  glorious  cathedral  of 
Eastern  Christianity,  so  far  went  back  on  his  word  as  to 
take  possession  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Apostles. 
This  structure,  built  by  Constantine  and  magnified  by 
Justinian,  had  been  an  imperial  Pantheon.  After  the 
loss  of  St.  Sophia  it  became  the  seat  of  the  Patriarchate. 
It  is  true  that  the  Latins  had  sacked  it  in  1204,  and 
that  Gennadius  had  vokmtarily  moved  his  throne  to  the 
church  of  the  All-blessed  Virgin.  Nevertheless,  it  was  not 
precisely  in  accord  with  the  Conqueror's  promises  \Nhen 


5o8      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

he  razed  to  the  ground  the  magnilieent  ehureh  that  had 
been  the  model  for  St.  Mark's  of  Veniee,  and  built  on  its 
site  the  first  of  the  mosques  bearing  a  sultan's  name. 
This  example  was  so  faithfully  followed  by  his  successors, 
that  of  the  t\\ent\-ri\c'  or  thirty  Byzantine  churches  still 
in  existence  only  one  is  now  in  Greek  hands.  It  is  onl\ 
fair  to  add,  however,  that  a  few  modern  churches  in 
Stamboul  occupy  ancient  sites,  and  that  the  decrease  ol 
the  Greek  population  caused  others  to  be  abandoned  by 
their  original  worshij)pers. 

The  one  exception  I  have  noted  is  a  small  church  in 
the  Phanar  cjuarter  called  St.  Mary  the  Mongolian. 
This  curious  name  was  that  of  the  founder,  a  natural 
daughter  of  Michael  Pakcologus.  After  driving  out  the 
Latins  in  1261  the  emperor  thought  to  consolidate  his 
position  by  ollering  the  hand  of  the  Princess  Mary  to 
Holagou,  that  redoubtable  descendant  of  Tamerlane  who 
destroyed  the  caliphate  of  Bagdad.  Holagou  died,  how- 
ever, while  his  bride  was  on  her  way  to  him.  But  the 
PaliEoIogina  continued  her  journcN  and  married  the  son 
of  her  elderly  fiance.  After  he  in  turn  had  gone  the  way 
of  his  father,  the  princess  returned  to  Constantinople  and 
built  her  church  and  the  monastery  of  which  it  formed  a 
part.  The  Lady  of  the  Mongols,  as  the  Greeks  called 
her,  was  the  hrst  member  of  her  house  whom  the  founder 
of  the  house  of  Osman  had  seen,  and  she  treated  him  so 
contemptuously  that  he  paid  her  back  by  capturing  the 
city  of  Nica^a  as  a  base  for  his  future  operations  against 
the  empire  of  her  fathers.  When,  less  than  two  hundred 
years  later,  the  descendant  of  Osman  took  the  capital  of 
the  PaIa?oIogi  and  built  there  his  great  mosque,  he  niade 
a  present  of  St.  Mary  the  Mongolian  to  his  Greek  archi- 
tect. So  it  is  that  the  Greeks  have  always  been  able  to 
retain  possession  of  the  church. 


WAR   TIME  509 

Joachim  III,  two  hundred  and  fifty-fourth  in  the  long 
line  of  Ecumenical  Patriarchs  of  Constantinople,  played 
a  memorable  part  in  the  struggle  between  the  two  powers. 
Like  his  cousin  of  the  Vatican,  he  was  of  humble  family. 
His  father  was  a  fisherman  in  the  village  of  Boyaji-kyoi, 
on  the  Bosphorus.  The  boy  was  given  to  the  church 
when  he  was  no  more  than  twelve  years  old,  going  in 
1846  with  his  village  priest  to  a  monastery  of  Mount 
Athos.  After  the  death  of  his  priest,  three  years  later,  he 
found  a  more  powerful  protector  in  the  person  of  the 
MctropoHtan  of  Cyzicus,  who  sent  him  to  Bucharest  in 
charge  of  the  Metropohtan  of  that  city.  For  in  those 
days  Bucharest  was  merely  the  capital  of  \\  allachia,  a 
Turkish  province  governed  by  Phanariote  Greeks.  In 
Bucharest  the  young  ecclesiastic  definitely  took  orders 
and  was  ordained  as  a  deacon  at  the  age  of  eighteen. 
Before  his  eventual  return  to  Constantinople  he  found 
occasion  to  see  something  more  of  the  world,  spending 
n(jt  less  than  four  years  in  Vienna.  These  ivaridcrjahrim 
made  up  to  him  in  considerable  measure  his  lack  of  any 
systematic  education.  In  i860  his  protector  became 
Patriarch,  and  the  young  priest  was  called  to  make  part 
of  his  court.  Three  years  later  the  Patriarch  fell  from 
power.  But  in  1864  Joachim  was  elected  Metropolitan 
of  Varna.  The  (isherman's  son  had  already  become, 
that  is,  and  without  the  favour  of  his  protector,  a  prince 
of  the  church;  for  the  Metropolitans  of  the  Patriarchate 
form  a  body  corresponding  to  the  College  of  Cardinals. 
Eight  years  later  he  became  a  member  of  the  Holy  Synod, 
which  is  the  executive  council  of  the  Patriarchate,  com- 
posed of  twelve  Metropolitans.  In  i8~4  he  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  important  see  of  Salonica.  It  is  rather 
curious  that  the  three  cities  of  his  longest  ecclesiastical 
residence  outside  of  Constantinople  should  have  passed 


lo 


CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND    NLW 


out  of  Turkish  hands  during  his  Urctimc,  and  in  the  ordtr 
ol"  his  residence  in  them.  lie  remained  but  four  years 
In  Salonica.  In  iS-S,  at  the  iv^v  of  forty-four,  lie  was 
elected  to  the  throne-  of  St.  John  Chrysostom. 

Sultan  Abd  iil  Hamid  II  had  l)ut  recently  come  to 
the  throne  of  Osman.  As  he  took  account  of  his  empire, 
shaken  by  a  disastrous  war,  and  gathered  the  reins  of 
government  into  his  own  hands,  he  discovered  that  the 
Orthodox  Church  had  a  stanch  defender  at  Its  head. 
In  i(SS4,  liowexer,  Joachim  III  was  compelled  to  retire. 
1  he  Sultan,  who  was  no  less  stanch  a  defender  of  the 
rights  of  his  people  as  he  saw  them,  had  decreed  that  m 
all  questions  at  law  the  (ireek  jjriests  should  no  longt-r 
be  subjt'ct  to  tlie  Patriarchate,  but  should  be  tried  like 
Turkish  priests  by  the  Moslem  religious  courts.  This  the 
Patriarch  stoutly  objected  to;  but  he  (inally  expressed 
his  willingness  to  agree  that  in  criminal  cases  his  priests 
should  be  given  uj)  to  the  Turkish  courts.  The  conces- 
sion was  to  him  a  verbal  one  only,  since  it  is  not  olten 
that  a  priest  becomes  entangled  in  criminal  procedure. 
As  it  invoKed  the  whole  question  of  the  rights  of  the 
Patriarchate,  howc\cr,  the  Holy  Synod  refused  to  coun- 
tenance even  a  verbal  concession,  and  Joachim  resigned. 
He  then  spent  sixteen  years  in  "repose,"  visiting  the 
diHercnt  Patriarchates  of  the  empire  and  finally  estab- 
lishing himself  on  Mount  Athos.  He  occupied  there  for 
several  years  the  picturesque  residence  of  Milopotamo, 
a  dependency  of  the  monastery  of  the  Great  Lavra.  But 
in  1 90 1  he  was  elected  a  second  time  to  the  Patriarchal 
throne,  which  he  thereafter  occupied  to  the  day  of  his 
death. 

His  second  reign  of  eleven  years  coincided  with  one 
of  the  most  crucial  periods  In  Turkish  history.  The 
early  days  of  it  were  marred  by  such  bitterness  between 


WAR   TIME  511 

Greeks  and  Bulgarians  in  Macedonia  that  Joachim  III 
must  have  been  surprised  himself,  during  the  last  days 
of  his  hfe,  to  see  soldiers  of  the  two  races  fighting  together 
against  a  common  enemy.  He  had  grown  up  in  a  church 
that  acknowledged  no  rival  and  that  had  formed  tiie 
habit  of  detecting  and  opposing  encroachments  on  its 
privileges.  Not  only  did  he  H\e,  however,  to  see  the 
boundaries  of  the  Patriarchate  draw  nearer  and  nearer 
Constantinople,  but  to  hear  numbers  of  its  diminished 
Hock  request  the  riglu  to  use  languages  other  than  the 
Greek  of  the  Gospels,  to  be  served  by  clergy  from  among 
themselves.  He  had  been  a  bishop  in  Bulgaria  when 
the  Turks,  past  masters  in  the  art  of  dividing  to  rule, 
listened  to  the  after  all  not  unreasonable  j)lea  of  the 
Bulgars  to  control  their  own  religious  affairs  and  still 
further  narrowed  the  j)()wers  ol  the  Patriarchate  by 
creating  a  new  Bulgarian  niilk't  with  a  primate  of  its 
own  called  the  Exarch.  A  hundred  years  previously,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  tlie  Bulgarians  had  had  a  Patriarch  of 
then'  own  at  Ochrida,  ni  Macedonia.  But  this  brought 
down,  in  i8~o,  the  ban  of  excommunication.  There  fol- 
lowed a  merciless  feud  between  the  two  churches  and  their 
followers  which  reached  its  height  durintr  the  second 
reign  of  Joachim  HI.  And  the  odium  tbcologicum  was  im- 
bittered  by  an  old  racial  jealousy  reaching  far  back  into 
Byzantine  history;  for  each  church  was  the  headquar- 
ters in  Turkey  of  a  nationalist  propaganda  in  favour  of 
brothers  across  the  border. 

In  the  meantime  the  revolution  of  1908  created 
new  dilliculties  for  the  Patriarchate.  The  \'oung  Turks 
avowed  more  openly  than  the  old  Turks  had  done  their 
desire  to  be  rid  of  capitulations,  conventions,  special 
privileges,  and  all  the  old  tissue  of  precedent  that  made 
the  empire  a  mass  of  impt'ria  in  imj)cri(>.     Joachim  III, 


512       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

however,  had  profited  by  the  lesson  of  his  first  reign. 
During  his  retirement  the  Patriarchate,  refusing  to  yield 
to  Abd  iil  Haniid,  had  answered  hini  by  closing  the 
churches.  To  us  this  seems  a  childish  cnougii  jjrotest, 
i)ut  it  is  a  measure  of  rigour  immensely  disliked  by  the 
Turks  on  account  of  the  chscontent  it  arouses  among  the 
hirge  Greek  pojDuhition.  After  holding  out  six  years, 
the  Sultan  finally  ga\e  in  to  the  Patriarcliate,  and  in  1891 
a  species  of  concorilal  was  chaw  n  up  between  tlie  two 
parties.  Joachim  \\\,  accorchngly,  met  the  ^'oung  Turks 
more  vigorously  than  he  had  met  Abd  iil  Hamid.  So 
vigorously  did  he  meet  them  that  .\Ldimoud  Shefket 
Pasha,  m  the  heal  ol  a  conlrox  ers\'  o\er  the  mihlarN  ser- 
vice ol  no n- Moslems,  burst  out  one  day  at  the  Patriarch: 
"I  will  smash  the  heads  of  all  the  Greeks!"  The  ques- 
tion ol  schools  also  became  acute,  the  government  de- 
manding a  super\ision  of  Greek  institutions  which  the 
Patriaichate  refused  to  admit.  And  a  j)olicy  of  pin-pricks 
was  instituted  against  all  the  heads  of  the  non-Moslem 
communities,  in  a  belated  attemj^t  to  retake  the  posi- 
tions lost  by  Mehmed  II  and  to  limit  the  Patriarchs  to 
their  spiritual  jurisdiction.  It  was  only  after  the  out- 
break of  the  Italian  War  and  the  consequent  fall  of  the 
Committee  of  Union  and  Progress  that  normal  relations 
with  the  Porte  were  restored. 

An  outsider  is  free  to  acknowledge  that  it  was  natural 
enough  for  the  Turks  to  regret  the  mistakes  of  a  mediie\al 
policy  and  to  wish  to  do  what  they  could  to  unify  their 
very  disparate  empire.  They  made  the  greater  mistake, 
however,  of  not  seeing  that  it  was  too  late;  that,  if  they 
were  not  strong  enough  to  tear  up  agreements  when  it 
suited  them,  the  only  course  left  was  to  devise  some 
frank  and  just  federation  between  the  different  elements 
of  the  empire.     On  the  other  hand,  an  outsider  is  also 


WAR  TIME  513 

free  to  acknowledge  that  the  Patriarchate  was,  perhaps, 
too  prone  to  fancy  itself  attacked,  too  ready  to  credit 
the  Turks  with  stupidity  or  ill  will,  too  obsessed  by  the 
memory  of  its  own  historic  greatness.     Nevertheless,  the 
fact  remains  that  Joachim  III  was  a  remarkable  prelate. 
If  there  was  anything  personal  in  his  ambition  to  unite 
the  churches  of  the  East  under  the  icgis  of  the  Phanar, 
he  proved  that  his  views  had  broadened  since  the  days 
of  the  Bulgarian  schism  and  that  he  held  no  mean  con- 
ception of  his  role  as  the  shepherd  of  a  disinherited  peo- 
ple.     Imposing  in  his  presence,  a  natural  diplomat,  more 
of  a  scholar  than  his  youthful  opportunities  had  promised, 
and  for  those  who  knew  him  a  saint,  he  faced  the  cunning 
Abd   ul    Ilamid    like   an    equal    monarch,    never  allowing 
himself  to  be  cozened  out  of  his  vigilance.     He  did  more 
thafi   protect  his  people.      He  gave  them  weapons.      He 
wished  his  clergy  and  his  laymen  to  be  educated,  to  be 
better  educated  than  the  masters  of  the  land.      He  there- 
fore  built   great   schools   for   them,   and    created    a   press. 
He  was  not  only  a  statesman,  however.     It  was  a  matter 
of  concern   with    him   that    his   church   should   be   alive. 
Many   interesting  questions  of  reform   arose  during  his 
incumbency —  of  what  would   be  called,   in  the  Roman 
Church,  Americanism.     Indeed,  he  was  sometimes  taxed 
with  being  too  progressive,  almost  too  protestant.     He 
and   the   Archbishop   of  Canterbury    made  overtures   to 
each  other,  from  their  two  ends  of  Europe,  in  the  interest 
of  a  closer  union  of  Christendom.     I  know  not  what  there 
may  have  been  of  politics  in  this  ecclesiastical  nirtation. 
At  the  outbreak  of  the  Balkan  War  Joachim  III  was 
seventv-eight  vears  old.     He  was  none  the  less  able  to 
conduct    the  affairs    of   his    church.     No  one  can  have 
taken  a  greater  interest  than  he  in  the  earlier  events  of 
that  remarkable  campaign.     He  was  still  alive  when  the 


514       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

Bulgarian  cannon  drew  so  near  that  their  thunder  was 
audible  e\  en  at  the  Phanar.  \\  hat  feelings  did  the  sound 
rouse  in  that  old  enemy  of  the  Exarchate?  He  must, 
at  all  events,  ha\e  hoped  that  to  him  would  be  given  the 
incomparable  honour  of  reconsecrating  St,  Sophia.  That 
consummation,  which  for  a  moment  seemed  within  the 
possibihties,  was  not  granted  him.  He  died  while  the 
negotiations  for  an  armistice  were  going  on  at  Chatalja. 
His  funeral  took  place  on  the  ist  of  December,  191 2. 

The  Patriarch  Gennadius,  as  we  have  seen,  first  took 
up  his  residence  in  the  church  of  the  Holy  Apostles  and 
afterward  in  that  of  the  Pammakaristos  —  the  All-blessed 
Virgin.  There  sixteen  of  his  successors  reigned  in  turn 
till  1591,  when  Sultan  Mourad  HI  turned  that  interest- 
ing eighth-century  church  into  Fetich  Jami  —  the  Mosque 
of  Conquest  -  in  honour  of  his  victories  in  Persia  and 
Georgia.  Then  the  Patriarchate  moved  three  times  more, 
finally  settling  in  1601  in  the  church  of  St.  George  at  the 
Phanar.  This  has  been  the  Vatican  of  Constantinople 
for  the  past  three  hundred  years.  The  Patriarchs  have 
never  made,  at  the  Phanar,  any  attempt  at  magnificence. 
Exiled  from  St.  Sophia,  and  hoping,  waiting,  to  return 
thither,  they  have  preferred  to  live  simply,  to  camp  out 
as  it  were  in  expectation,  thinking  their  means  best 
devoted  to  schools  and  charitable  institutions.  The 
wooden  palace  of  the  Patriarchate  is  a  far  from  imposing 
building,  while  the  adjoining  church  is  small  and  plain. 
It  contains  little  of  interest  save  an  old  episcopal  throne 
and  a  few  relics  and  icons,  which  are  supposed  to  have 
been  saved  from  St.  Sophia.  Nevertheless  the  funeral 
of  Joachim  III  was  a  dignified,  an  imposing,  even  a  splen- 
did ceremony.  To  this  result  the  Turkish  authorities 
contributed  not  a  little,  by  maintaining  a  service  of  order 
more  perfect  than  I  have  seen  at  any  other  state  pageant 


WAR   TIME 


yij 


in  Constantinople.  No  one  who  had  not  a  card  of  ad- 
mission was  allowed  even  in  the  street  through  which 
the  procession  was  to  pass.  Along  this  street  black  masts 
were  set  at  intervals,  from  which  hung  black  gonfalons 
with  white  crosses  in  the  centre,  while  black  and  white 
wreaths  or  garlands  decorated  all  the  houses.     On  either 


Church  of  the  All-blessed  Virgin  (Fetieh  Jami) 


side  of  the  rising  curve  from  the  main  street  to  the  gate 
of  the  Patriarchate,  students  from  the  theological  college 
at  Halki  made  a  wonderfully  picturesque  guard  of  honour 
in  their  flowing  black  robes  and  brimless  black  hats,  each 
supporting  the  staff  of  a  tall  church  lantern  shrouded  in 
black.  Within  the  church  even  stricter  precautions  had 
been  taken  to  prevent  the  dignity  of  the  ceremony  from 
being  marred.  The  number  of  tickets  issued  was  sternly 
limited  to  the  capacity  of  the  narrow  nave,  and  none  were 


51^)       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND    NEW 

granted   to   ladies  —  a  severity   whieh    brou<i;ht   dow  n   a 
violent  protest  from  the  better  half  of  Byzantium. 

A  Greek  chureh  sometimes  impresses  a  Westerner  as 
containing  too  many  glittering  things  within  too  small  a 
space.  On  this  occasion  the  natural  twihght  of  the  in- 
terior and  the  black  gauze  in  which  lamps  and  icons  were 
veiled  toned  down  any  possible  ellect  of  tawdriness, 
while  the  tall  carved  and  gilded  ikonostasion  made  the 
right  background  for  the  splendour  of  the  ceremon\ . 
One  hardly  realised  that  it  was  a  funeral.  There  was  no 
cofTin,  no  (lowers,  no  mortuary  candles.  The  dead  Patri- 
arch, arrayed  in  his  pontifical  cloth  of  gold  and  crowned 
with  his  domed  gold  mitre,  sat  in  his  accustomed  place 
at  the  right  of  the  chancel,  on  a  throne  ol  purple  \el\et. 
I  was  prepared  to  iind  it  ghastly;  but  in  the  half  light 
I  found  rather  a  certain  Byzantine  solemnity.  On  the 
purple  dais  at  the  right  of  the  Patriarch  stood  his  hand- 
some Grand  \  icar,  in  the  (lowing  black  of  the  church. 
At  the  left  another  priest  stood,  one  of  the  twcKe  archi- 
mandrites attached  to  the  Patriarchate,  holding  the 
episcopal  stair  which  the  Conqueror  is  supposed  to  have 
given  Gennadius,  tipped  like  Hermes'  caduceus  with  two 
serpents'  heads  of  gold.  In  front  of  the  dais  burned  an 
immense  yellow  candle,  symbolic  of  the  Light  of  the 
World,  which  an  acolyte  called  the  Great  Candle-bearer 
always  carries  before  the  Patriarch. 

The  oOiciating  clergy,  consisting  of  the  members  of 
the  Holy  Synod  and  a  number  of  visiting  bishops,  stood 
in  front  of  the  iko7iostasion,  some  in  simple  black,  others 
in  magnificent  vestments  of  white  satin  embroidered  with 
gold.  The  rest  of  the  church  was  given  up  to  invited 
guests.  In  stalls  at  the  dead  Patriarch's  left  sat  the 
heads  of  the  other  non-Moslem  communities  of  the  em- 
pire, headed  by  the  Armenian   Patriarch   and   including 


WAR   TIME 


517 


the  Grand  Rabbi  of  Turkey,  and  even  a  representati\e 
of  the  Bulgarian  Exarch.  At  the  right  were  grouped 
the  representatives  of  the  Sultan,  of  the  cabinet,  and  of 
different  departments  of  government,  all  in  gala  uniform 


The  lantern-bearers 


and  decorations.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  chancel 
was  ranged  the  diplomatic  corps,  headed  by  the  Russian 
ambassador  with  all  his  staff  and  the  Roumanian  min- 
ister. Their  Bulgarian,  Greek,  Montenegrin,  and  Ser- 
vian   colleagues,  being  absent,   seemed  at  that   historic 


5i8       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

moment  to  l)c  only  the  more  present.  The  other  foreign 
missions,  as  less  eoneerned  with  the  Orthodox  Chureh, 
were  rejiresented  by  two  secretaries  aj^ieee.  The  over- 
flow ol  the  dii^lomalic  eorj^s,  the  ollieers  of  llu-  iiUerna- 
tional  squadron  then  in  the  Bosj^horus,  and  a  number  of 
Greek  secular  notabilities  lilled  the  body  of  the  nave,  in 
chairs  which  had  been  provided  for  them  contrary  to  all 
jjreccdents  oi  the  Greek  Church.  The  spectacle  was  ex- 
licnuls  brilliant,  nor  less  so  for  llu'  twilight  of  the  church 
—  and  a  strange  one  when  one  realised  that  it  was  all  in 
honour  of  the  old  man  in  the  purj^Ie  chair,  his  head 
bowed  aiul  his  eyes  closed,  sitting  so  still  and  white  in 
his  golden  robes.  But  strangest  of  all  was  something 
unutttMc'd  in  the  aii',  that  reminded  me  a  little  ol  when 
Abd  ill  Ilamid  opened  his  second  parliament  a  feeling 
of  all  that  was  impersonated  there  by  robe  and  uniform 
and  star,  a  sense  of  forces  interwoven  past  extricating,  a 
stirring  of  old  Byzantine  ghosts  in  this  hour  of  death, 
which  was  also  in  some  not  c|uite  acknowledged  way  an 
hour  of  victory.  Joachim  III  would  scarcely  have  had  a 
more  dramatic  funeral  if  it  had  taken  place  in  St.  Soj^hia. 
The  ceremony  was  not  very  long.  It  consisted  ch icily 
of  chanting  —  of  humming  one  might  almost  say,  so  low- 
was  the  tone  in  w  hiclV  the  priests  sang  the  prayers  for  the 
dead.  No  instrumental  music  is  permitted  in  the  Greek 
rite.  At  one  point  of  the  oflice  two  priests  in  magnificent 
chasubles,  one  of  whom  carried  two  candles  tied  together 
and  the  other  three,  went  in  front  of  the  Patriarch, 
bowed  low,  and  swung  silver  censers.  Then  the  secre- 
tary of  the  Holy  Synod  mounted  a  high  pulpit  and  de- 
livered a  panegyric  of  Joachim  III.  And  at  last  he  was 
lifted  as  he  was,  sitting  on  his  throne,  and  carried  in 
solemn  procession  to  his  grave  in  the  monasterv  of 
Baliklt. 


WAR  TIME 


519 


I  did  not  see  the  procession  In  any  ordered  picture 
but  only  as  a  current  surging  down  the  steps,  from  a  door 
at  rlcrht  angles  to  the  one  where  Gregory  V  was  hanged 
a  hundred  vears  ago,  and  away  between  the  motionless 
black  figures  with  their  tall  lanterns  —  a  crowded  current 
of  robes,  of  uniforms,  of  priests  swinging  censers,  of  other 


The  dead  Patriarch 

priests  carrying  jewclkd  decorations  on  cushions  and 
one  who  Ix^re  a  sliver  pitcher  of  wine  to  be  poured  into 
the  grave  In  the  fashion  of  the  older  Greeks.  Turkish 
soldiers  made  a  guard  of  honour  before  the  steps,  at  this 
pause  of  another  Greek  war.  They  looked  up  with  a 
sort  of  wondering  proud  passivity  at  the  figure  ot  the 
dead  pontiff,  and  the  two-headed  Byzantine  eagle  em- 
blazoned in  gold  on  the  back  of  his  purple  throne.  1  did 
not  see  either  the  last  embarking  of  Joachim  III  on  the 


52()       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD    AND    NEW 

yacht  lent  h\  the  jjjcncmnK'iU  clicl  not  Mchiiicd  II 
lend  Gcnnadius  his  horse?  —  or  his  triumphal  progress, 
surrouiuled  by  the  {^relates  of  his  court.  thr()U<:h  the 
opened  brid<:;es  of  tlu-  harbour,  to  the  Marniora  side  of 
the  elty.  We  drove,  instead,  to  the  monastery  of  Our 
Lad\  ol  the  I'ishes,  outside  the  walls,  where  the  priests 
showed  us  the  ehureh  darkened  with  crape  and  the  grave 
that  was  not  cjuite  read\.  It  was  an  underground  room 
rather,  with  tiled  lloor  and  cemented  walls,  and  beside 
it  lay  iron  girders  for  roofing  over  the  top.  Eor  tiie 
Patriarchs  are  burled  as  they  come  to  the  grave,  sitting, 
according  to  the  ancunt  custom  ol  their  church. 

Presently  a  false  alarm  called  us  to  the  ojXMi,  where 
another  crowd  was  waiting.  There  was  still  a  long  time, 
howe\er,  before  the  procession  came  into  sight.  We 
spent  it  in  the  cyj^ress  lane  which  leads,  between  Turkish 
cemeteries,  to  the  monasters  Among  the  graves  a  camp 
of  refugees  from  Thrace  was  quarantined.  Twenty  or 
thirty  new  mounds  were  near  them,  scattered  with 
chloride  of  lime.  Ragged  peasants  leaned  over  the  wall, 
grateful,  no  doubt,  for  something  to  break  the  monotony 
of  their  Imprisonment.  The  names  of  kirk  Kll'seh  and 
Liileh  Bourgass  recurred  in  their  talk.  At  last  an  ad- 
vance guard  of  cavalrv'  spattered  down  the  muddy  lane. 
After  them  came  policemen,  mounted  and  on  foot,  fol- 
lowed by  choir-boys  carrying  two  tall  sliver  crosses  and 
six  of  the  six-winged  silver  ornaments  symbolising  the 
cherubim  of  the  Revelation.  Then  all  the  Greeks  about 
us  began  to  exclaim:  "There  he  Is!"  and  we  saw  the 
gold-clad  figure  coming  toward  us  between  the  cypresses 
on  his  purple  throne.  Until  then  there  had  seemed  to 
me  nothing  ghastly  or  barbaric  about  It.  I  had  looked 
upon  It  as  a  historic  survival  worthy^  of  all  respect.  But 
the    dignity    was    gone    as    the    tired    bearers    stumbled 


WAR   TIME  521 

through  the  nu.d  carrying  the  heavy  dais.  And  the  old 
num  who  had  been  so  handsome  and  Imperious  in  hfe 
looked  now.  In  the  clear  afternoon  sunlight,  weary  and 
shrunken  and  pitiful.  I  was  sorry  I  had  come  to  stare  at 
him  once  more.  And  long  afterward  an  imagination  ot 
him  haunted  me,  and  I  wondered  if  he  were  in  his  httle 
tiled  room  at  last,  sitting  at  peace  In  his  purple  chair. 

\T1.  KEFLCiEES 

They  say  thev  do  not   like  Christians  to  live  in  the 
sacred  suburb  of  Eyoub.      But  they  are  used  by  this  time 
to  seeing  us.     Too  manv  of  us  go  there,  alas,  to  climb  the 
hill  and^look  al   the  view  and   feel  as  sentimental  as   we 
can    ..ver   Azivade.     And    certainly    the   good    peoj^le   ol 
Eyoub   made   no   objection  to    Lady   Lowther  when   she 
established   In   their   midst   a  committee  for  distributing 
food  and  clothing  and   fuel   to  the  families  of  poor  sol- 
diers and  to  the  refugees.     The  hordes  of  Asia  had  n.,t 
stopped   pouring  through   the  city  on  their  way  to  the 
west  before  another  horde  began  pouring  the  other  way, 
out    of    Europe.      Within    a    month    there    could    hardlv 
have  been  a  Turk  left  between  the  Bulgarian  border  and 
the  Chatalja  lines.      It  was  partly,  no  doubt,  due  to  the 
narrowness   of   the    field    of  operations,    lying   as    it   did 
between   two   converging   seas,    which   enabled   the   con- 
quering armv   to  drive  the   whole  country   In  a  battue 
before^'lt.     But    I    cannot   imagine   any   Western   people 
trekking  with  such  unanimity.     They  would  have  been 
more  hrmly  rooted  to  the  soil.     The  Turk,  however,  is 
still  half  a  tent-man,  and  he  has  never   felt  perfectly  at 
home  In   Europe.     So  village  after  village  harnessed  its 
black  water-bulTalo  or  Its  little  grey  oxen  to  its  carts  of 
clumsy  wheels,  piled  thereon  its  few  effects,  covered  them 


•)  •> 


->-- 


CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 


willi   matting  spread  over  IxmU  saplings,  and  canic  Into 
Constantinojik'. 

How  many  of  them  canu-  I  do  not  Imagine  any  one 
knows.  Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  them  were 
shipped  over  into  Asia  Minor.  Other  thousands  re- 
mained, in  the  hope  of  going  baek  to  their  ruined  homes. 
The  soldiers  and  the  siek  had  already  oeeupied  most 
of  the  spare  room  that  was  to  be  found.  Tlie  refugees 
had  to  take  what  was  left.  I  knew  one  colony  of  them 
that  spent  tlie  w  inter  in  tlie  sailing  eaiques  in  which  they 
lied  from  the  coast  villages  of  the  Marmora.  Being  my- 
self like  a  Turk  in  that  I  make  little  of  numbers  and 
computations,  1  ha\e  no  means  of  knowing  how  many 
men,  women,  and  children,  from  how  many  villages, 
swelk-d  the  population  of  Esoub.  I  only  know  that 
their  own  peoj^le  took  in  a  good  number,  that  they  lived 
in  cloisters  and  empty  houses,  that  certain  mosques 
were  given  up  to  them  entirely,  that  sheds,  storehouses, 
stables,  were  full  of  them.  I  e\en  heard  of  four  persons 
w  ho  had  no  other  shelter  than  a  water-closet.  And  still 
streets  and  open  spaces  were  turned  into  camping  grounds, 
where  small  grey  cattle  were  tethered  to  big  carts  and 
where  people  in  veils  and  turbans  shivered  over  camp- 
fires  —  w  hen  they  had  a  camp-fire  to  shiver  over.  They 
could  generally  fall  back  on  cypress  wood.  It  always 
gave  me  a  double  pang  to  catch  the  aroma  of  such  a 
fire,  betraying  as  it  did  the  extremity  of  some  poor  exile 
and  the  devastation  at  work  among  the  trees  that  give 
Constantinople  so  much  of  its  colour. 

I  have  done  a  good  deal  of  visiting  in  my  day,  being 
somewhat  given  to  seek  the  society  of  m\^  kind.  But  it 
has  not  often  happened  to  me,  in  the  usual  course  of 
visiting,  to  come  so  near  the  realities  of  life  as  when, 
with  another  member  of  our  subcommittee,  I  visited  the 


WAR   TIME 


5^3 


mosque  of  ZaI  Mahmoud  Pasha,  in  Eyoub.  The  mosque 
of  ZaI  Mahmoud  Pasha  is  worth  visiting.  It  was  built 
by  Sinan,  and  its  founder,  a  Vizier  of  Selim  II,  was  nick- 
named ZaI,  after  a  famous  Persian  champion,  because, 
with  his  own  hands,  he  fmally  succeeded  in  strangling 
the  strong  young  prince  Moustafa,  son  of  Suleiman  the 


Exiles 


Magnificent.  Like  its  greater  neighbour,  the  mosque  of 
Zal  Mahmoud  Pasha  has  two  courts.  They  are  on  two 
levels,  joined  by  a  flight  of  steps,  each  opening  into  a 
thoroughfare  of  its  own.  And  very  cheerless  they  looked 
indeed  on  a  winter  day  of  snow,  especially  for  the  cattle 
stabled  in  their  cloisters.  The  mosque  itself  was  open 
to  any  who  cared  to  go  in.  We  did  so,  pushing  aside 
the  heavy  Hap  that  hangs  at  any  public  Turkish  doorway 


524       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND    NEW 

in  winter.  Wc  found  ourselves  in  a  narrow  vestibule  in 
which  eight  or  ten  famihes  were  Hving.  One  of  them 
consisted  of  two  children,  a  httle  boy  flushed  with  fever 
and  a  pale  and  wasted  Httle  girl,  who  lay  on  the  bricks 
near  the  door  without  mattress  or  matting  under  them. 
They  were  not  quite  alone  in  the  world,  we  learned. 
Their  mother  had  gone  away  to  find  them  bread.  The 
same  was  the  ease  with  a  larger  family  of  children  who 
sat  around  a  primitive  brazier.  The  youngest  was  cry- 
ing, and  a  girl  of  ten  was  telling  him  that  their  mother 
would  soon  be  back  with  something  to  eat. 

We  lifted  a  second  flap.  A  wave  of  warm  smoky  air 
met  us,  sweetened  by  cypress  wood  but  sickcningly 
close.  Through  the  haze  of  smoke  we  saw  that  the  square 
of  the  nave,  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  a  gallery,  was 
packed  as  if  by  a  congregation.  The  congregation  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  women  and  children,  which  is  not  the 
thing  in  Turkey,  sitting  on  the  matted  floor  in  groups, 
and  all  about  them  were  chests  and  small  piles  of  bedding 
and  stray  cooking  utensils.  Each  of  these  groups  con- 
stituted a  house,  as  they  put  it.  As  we  went  from  one 
to  another,  asking  questions  and  taking  notes,  we  counted 
seventy-eight  of  them.^  Some  four  hundred  people,  that 
is,  were  living  huddled  together  under  the  dome  of  Zal 
Mahmoud  Pasha.  In  the  gallery  and  under  it  rude  par- 
titions had  been  made  by  stretching  ropes  between  the 
pillars  and  hanging  up  a  spare  rug  or  quilt.  In  the  open 
space  of  the  centre  there  was  nothing  to  mark  off  house 
from  house  save  the  bit  of  rug  or  matting  that  most  of 
the  families  had  had  time  to  bring  away  with  them,  or 
such  boundaries  as  could  be  drawn  by  the  more  solid  of 
the  family  possessions  and  by  the  row  of  family  shoes. 
Under  such  conditions  had  not  a  few  of  the  congregation 
drawn  their  first  or  their  last  breath. 


WAR  TIME  5^-5 

Nearly  every  "house"  had  a  brazier  of  some  kind,  if 
onlv  improvised  out  of  a  kerosene  tin.     That  was  where 
the''  bkie  haze  came  from  and  the  scent  of  cypress  wood. 
Some  had  a  kttle  charcoal,  and  were  daily  near  asphyxi- 
ating themselves.     Others  had  no  fire  at  alk     On  a  num- 
ber of  the  braziers  we  noticed  curious  flat  cakes  bakmg, 
into  whose  composition  went  bran  or  even  straw.     We 
took  them  to  be  some  Thracian  dainty  until  we  learned 
that  thev   were  a  substitute   for   bread.     The  city   was 
supposed  to  give  each  refugee  a  loaf  a  day,  but  many 
somehow  did  not  succeed  in  getting  their  share.     A  tew 
told  us  that  thev  had  had  none,  unless  from  their  neigh- 
bours, for  five  days.     It  struck  me.  In  this  connection, 
that  in  no  other  country  I  knew  would  the  mosque  car- 
pets still  have  been  lying  folded  in  one  corner  instead 
of' making   life   a   little   more  tolerable  for  that  melan- 
choly congregation.     Of  complaint,  however,  we  heard  as 
little  as  possible.     The  four  hundred  sat  very  silently  in 
their  smoky  mosque.     Many  of  them  had  not  only  their 
lost  homes  to  think  of.     A  father  told  us  that  when  Chor- 
ion was  spoiled,  as  he  put  it,  his  little  girl  of  nine  had 
found  a  place  in  the  'Tire  carriage"  that  went  before  his, 
and  he  had  not  seen  her  since.     One  old  man  had  lost 
the  rest  of  his  family.     He  had  been  unable  to  keep  up 
with  them,  he  said:    it  had  taken  him  twenty-two  days 
to  walk  from  Kirk  Kil'seh.     A  tall  ragged  young  woman, 
who  told  us  that  her  effendi  made  war  in  Adrianople, 
said  she  had  three  children.     One  of  them  she  rocked 
beside  her  in  a  wooden  washing  trough.     It  came  out  only 
by  accident  that  she  had  adopted  the  other  two  during  the 
hegira  from  Thrace.     W^e  wondered  how,   if  the  e/cnJi 
ever  came  out  of  Adrianople  alive,  he  would  find  his  wife 
and  his  babv;   for  hardly  one  in  fifty  of  these  peasants 
could  read  or  write,  and  no  exact  register  of  them  was 


526       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND    NEW 

kept.  Maii\  of  tluiii  were  ill  and  lay  on  the  lloor  under 
a  eoloured  c|iiill.  II  anotlier  member  ol  llie  family 
wanted  to  lake  a  nap  he  would  erawl  under  the  same 
quilt.  Is  it  an\  wonder  that  diseases  became  epidemic 
in  the  mosques?  Cholera  did  not  break  out  in  many  of 
them  except  St.  Soj^hia,  which  was  used  as  a  barracks. 


Kufc^ 

Li 

M 

m 

1.                            ^^^       1 

Lady  Lowther's  refugees 


But  in  ZaI  Mahmoud  Pasha  there  were  at  one  time  cases 
of  consumption,  pneumonia,  typhoid  fever,  scarlet  fe\'er, 
measles,  mumps,  and  smallpox.  Five  cases  of  the  last 
were  found  under  one  quilt.  Still,  the  refugees  would  not 
be  vaccinated  if  they  could  help  it.  The  only  way  to 
bring  them  to  it  was  to  cut  off  their  bread.  And  not 
many  of  them  were  willing  to  go  away  or  to  let  members 
of  their   families  be  taken  away  to  hospitals.     How  did 


WAR  TIME  527 

they  know  whether  they  would  ever  see  each  other  again, 
they  asked?  A  poor  mother  we  knew,  whose  husband 
had  been  taken  as  a  soldier  and  had  not  been  heard  of 
since,  and  whose  home  had  burned  to  the  ground  before 
her  eyes,  lost  her  four  children,  one  after  the  other.  A 
neighbour  afterward  remarked  of  her  in  wonder  that  she 
seemed  to  have  no  mind  in  her  head. 

In  distributing  Lady  Lowther's  relief  we  did  what 
we  could  to  systematise.  Having  visited,  quarter  by 
quarter,  to  see  for  ourselves  the  condition  of  the  people 
and  what  they  most  needed,  we  gave  the  head  of  each 
house  a  numbered  ticket,  enabhng  him  or  her  to  draw  on 
us  for  certain  supphes.  Most  of  the  suppHes  were  dealt 
out  on  our  own  day  at  home.  They  say  it  is  more 
blessed  to  give  than  to  receive.  I  found,  however,  that 
it  was  most  possible  to  appreciate  the  humorous  and 
decorative  side  of  Thrace  when  we  received,  in  the  coffee- 
shop  of  many  windows  which  was  our  headquarters.  It 
is  astonishing  how  large  a  proportion  of  Thrace  is  god- 
daughter to  Hadijeh  or  Aisheh,  Mothers  of  the  Moslems, 
or  to  the  Prophet's  daughter  Fatma.  Many,  neverthe- 
less, reminded  one  of  Mme.  Chrysantheme  and  Madam 
Butterfly.  On  our  visiting  hst  were  Mrs.  Hyacinth, 
Mrs.  Tuhp,  Mrs.  Appletree,  and  Mrs.  Nightingale.  I 
am  also  happy  enough  to  possess  the  acquaintance  of 
Mrs.  Sweetmeat,  Mrs.  Diamond,  Mrs.  Pink  (the  colour), 
Mrs.  Cotton  (of  African  descent),  Mrs.  Air  (though 
some  know  her  as  Mother  Eve),  Miss  May  She  Laugh, 
and  Master  He  Waited.  This  last  appellation  seemed 
to  me  so  curious  that  I  inquired  into  it,  and  learned  that 
my  young  gentleman  waited  to  be  born.  These  are  not 
surnames,  you  understand,  for  no  Turk  owns  such  a 
thing.  Nor  yet,  I  suppose,  can  one  call  them  Christian 
names!     To  tell   one    Mistress    Hvacinth    from   another 


528      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

you  add  the  name  of  her  man;  and  in  his  case  all  you 
can  do  is  to  call  him  the  son  of  so  and  so. 

If  we  found  the  nomenclature  of  Mistress  Hyacinth 
and  her  family  a  source  of  perplexity,  she  in  turn  was  not 
a  little  confounded  by  our  system  of  tickets.  We  had 
one  for  bread.  We  had  another  for  charcoal.  We  had 
a  third  for  groceries.  We  had  a  fourth  and  a  lifth  for 
fodder.  We  had  a  sixth,  the  most  important  of  all,  since 
it  entitled  the  bearer  to  the  others,  which  must  be  tied 
tight  in  a  painted  handkerchief  and  never  be  lost.  "By 
God!"  cried  Mistress  Hyacinth  in  her  honoured  idiom, 
"I  know  not  what  these  papers  mean!"  And  sometimes 
it  was  well-nigh  impossible  to  explain  it  to  her.  A  good 
part  of  her  confusion,  I  suspect,  should  be  put  down  to 
our  strange  accent  and  grammar,  and  to  our  unfamiiiarity 
with  the  Thracian  point  of  view.  Still,  I  think  the  Lidies 
of  that  peninsula  share  the  general  hesitation  of  their 
race  to  concern  themselves  with  mathematical  accuracy. 
Asked  how  many  children  they  had,  they  rarely  knew 
until  they  had  counted  up  on  their  fingers  two  or  three 
times.  It  is  evidently  no  habit  with  them  to  have  the 
precise  number  in  mind.  So  when  they  made  an  obvious 
mistake  we  did  not  necessarily  suspect  them  of  an  at- 
tempt to  overestimate.^  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were 
more  likely  to  underestimate.  Other  failures  of  memory 
were  more  surprising,  as  that  of  a  dowager  in  ebony  who 
was  unable  to  tell  her  husband's  name.  "How  should  I 
know?"  she  protested.  "He  died  so  long  ago!"  When 
questioned  with  regard  to  their  own  needs  they  were 
equally  vague.  "I  am  naked,"  was  their  commonest 
reply.  "Whatever  your  eye  picks  out,  I  will  take."  But 
if  our  eye  failed  to  pick  out  the  right  thing,  they  would 
in  the  end  give  us  a  hint. 

Altogether  it  is  evident  that  the  indirections  of  Mis- 


WAR  TIME  529 

tress  Hyacinth  follow  a  compass  difTerent  from  our  own. 
I  remember  a  girl  not  more  than  sixteen  or  seventeen  who 
told  us  she  had  three  children.  Two  of  them  were  with 
her:  where  was  the  third,  we  asked?  "Here,"  she  an- 
swered, patting  herself  with  the  simplicity  of  which  the 
Anglo-Saxons  have  lost  the  secret.  Yet  she  was  most 
scrupulous  to  keep  her  nose  and  mouth  hidden  from  an 
indiscriminate  world.  Another  woman,  asked  about  a 
child  we  knew,  replied  non-committally :  **\Ve  have  sent 
him  away."  "W'h'ere?"  we  demanded  in  alarm,  for 
we  had  known  of  refugees  giving  away  or  even  selHng 
their  children.  "Eh  —  he  went,"  returned  the  mother 
gravely.  "Have  you  news  of  him?"  one  of  us  pursued. 
"Yes,"  she  said.  And  it  was  finally  some  one  else  who 
had  to  enlighten  our  obtuscness  by  explaining  that  it 
wa5  to  the  other  world  the  child  had  gone.  But  none  of 
them  hesitated  to  give  the  rest  of  us  an  opportunity  to 
go  there  too.  Many  women  came  into  our  coffee-shop 
carrying  in  their  arms  a  baby  who  had  smallpox,  and 
were  a  Httle  hurt  because  we  got  rid  of  them  as  quickly 
as  possible. 

With  great  discreetness  would  Mistress  Hyacinth 
enter  our  presence,  rarely  so  far  forgetting  herself  as  to 
lean  on  our  table  or  to  throw  her  arms  in  gratitude  about 
a  benefactress's  neck.  For  in  gratitude  she  abounds,  and 
in  such  expressions  of  it  as  "God  give  you  fives"  and 
"May  you  never  have  less."  With  a  benefactor  she 
is,  I  am  happy  to  report,  more  reserved.  Him  she  ad- 
dresses, according  to  her  age,  as  "my  child,"  "my  broth- 
er," "my  uncle,"  or  haply  "my  mother  and  my  father." 
1  grew  so  accustomed  to  occupying  the  maternal  relation 
to  ladies  of  afi  ages  and  colours  that  I  felt  sfighted  when 
they  coldly  addressed  me  as  their  lord.  Imagine,  then, 
my   pleasure  when  one  of  them   cafied   me   her  creamy 


530      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

boy!  In  the  matter  ut  discretion,  ho\vc\cr,  Mistress 
Hyacintli  is  not  always  impeccable  —  so  far,  at  least,  as 
concerns  tlie  concealment  of  her  charms.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  she  will  scarcely  be  persuaded  to  raise  her  veil 
even  for  a  lady  to  reco^^nise  her;  but  at  others  she  ap- 
pears not  to  shrink  from  the  masculine  eye.  One  day 
a  Turk,  passing  our  co(Tee-shop,  was  attracted  by  the 
commotion  at  the  door.  He  came  to  tlie  door  himself, 
looked  in,  and  cried  out  "Shame!"  at  the  disreputable 
spectacle  of  a  mild  male  unbeliever  and  a  doorkeeper  of 
his  own  faith  within  the  same  four  walls  as  some  of  Lad}' 
Lowther's  fairer  helpers  and  a  motley  collection  of  refugee 
women,  man\-  of  them  un\eiled.  But  the  latter  retorted 
with  such  pronijDtness  that  the  shame  was  rather  upon 
him,  for  leaving  the  (lyaour  to  supply  their  wants,  that  he 
was  happy  to  let  the  matter  drop.  On  this  and  other 
occasions  I  gathered  a  very  distinct  impression  that  if 
Mistress  Hyacinth  should  ever  take  it  into  her  head  to 
turn  suffragette  she  would  not  wait  long  to  gain  her  end. 
The  nails  of  Mistress  Hyacinth  —  speaking  of  suffra- 
gettes —  are  almost  always  reddened  with  henna,  I 
notice,  and  very  clean.  The  henna  often  extends  to  her 
fingers  as  well,  to  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and  to  her 
hair.  If  she  happen  to 'be  advancing  in  years,  the  effect 
is  sometimes  very  strange  to  a  Western  eye.  There  is 
no  attempt  to  simulate  a  youthful  glow.  The  dye  is 
plentifully  applied  to  make  a  rich  coral  red.  In  other 
points  of  fashion  Mistress  Hyacinth  is  more  independent 
than  her  sisters  of  the  West.  What  the  ladies  of  Paris 
wear  must  be  worn  by  the  ladies  of  Melbourne,  New  York, 
or  St.  Petersburg.  But  no  such  spirit  of  imitation  pre- 
vails in  Thrace,  where  every  village  seems  to  have  modes 
of  its  ow^n.  W^e  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  rid  of  a 
quantity    of   clothing    sent    out    by   charitable    but    un- 


WAR  TIME  531 

imaginative  persons   in   England,  who  could   hardly  be 
expected  to  know  the  fashions  of  Thrace.     Articles  in- 
tended to  be  worn  out  of  sight  were  accepted  without  a 
murmur  when  nothing  better  was  to  be  had,  such  as  a 
quilted  coat  of  many  colours  that  we  bought  by  the  hun- 
dred in  the  Bazaars,  called  like  the  Prophet's  mantle  a 
h'lrka.     But  when  it  came  to  some  very  good  and  long 
golf  capes,  the  men  were  more  willing  to  take  them  than 
the  women  —  until  they  thought  of  cutting  them  up  mto 
children's  coats.     Nlistress  Hyacinth  herself  scorned  to 
put  on  even  so  much  of  the  colour  of  an  unbeliever,  pre- 
ferring the  shapeless  black  mantle  of  her  country,  worn 
over  her  head  If  need  be,  and  not  quite  hiding  a  pair  of 

full  print  trousers.  r  x/-     i 

The  village  whose  taste  I  most  admire  is  that  ot  Vizeli, 
the- ladies  of  which  weave  with  their  own  hands  a  black 
woolen  crash  for  their  mantles,  with  patches  of  red-and- 
blue   embroidery   where   they   button,  and   with   trousers 
(,f  the  same  dark  blue  as  the  sailor  collar  of  a  good  many 
,,f   them.      I    wish    I    might   have  gone  to  VIzeh   before 
the   Bulgarians   did.     There   must   have   been   very   nice 
things  to   pick   up  — In   the  way,   for  instance,   of  such 
"napkins"  as  Ladv  Marv  Montagu  described  to  her  sister 
on   the    loth   of  March,    I'lS,   "all  tiffany,   embroidered 
with   silks   and   gold.    In    the   finest    manner,    in    natural 
flowers."     She  added:    "It  was  with  the  utmost  regret 
that  I  made  use  of  these  costly  napkins,  as  finely  wrought 
as  the  finest   handkerchiefs  that   ever  came  out  of  this 
country.     You    may    be    sure    that    they    were    entirely 
spoiled  before  dinner  was  over."     But  you,  madam,  may 
be  sure  thev  were  not,  for  I  bought  some  of  them  from 
the  ladies  of  Thrace,  rather  improved  than  not  by  their 
manv   washings.     Thev   are  technically   known   as  Bul- 
garian towels,  being  reallv  Turkish;    but  It  seems  to  me 


532      CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

that  the  tradition  w  hich  persists  in  this  beautiful  peasant 
embroidery  must  I)e  Byzantine.  Mistress  Hyaeinth  was 
able  to  make  it,  as  well  as  to  sell  it.  And  to  turn  an  hon- 
est penny  she  and  her  friends  set  up  their  funny  little 
hand-looms  in  a  house  we  hired  for  them,  and  wove  the 
narrow  eloth  of  their  country,  loosely  mingled  of  linen  or 
cotton  and  silk,  and  shot,  it  might  be,  with  bright  col- 
ours of  which  the\   had  the  secret. 


Peasant  embroidery 


The  consort  of  Mistress  Hyacinth,  I  regret  to  add, 
seemed  to  show  less  wniingness  to  add  to  the  resources 
of  the  family.  Perhaps  it  was  because  of  an  inward  con- 
viction of  which  I  once  or  twice  caught  rumours,  that  as 
unbelievers  had  deprived  him  of  his  ordinary  means  of 
sustenance,  we  other  unbelievers  were  in  duty  bound  to 
keep  him  alive.  For  the  rest  he  is  outwardly  and  visibly 
the  decorative  member  of  the  family.  He  inclines  less 
to  bagginess  than  Mistress  Hyacinth,  or  than  his  brother 
of  Asia.  He  affects  a  certain  cut  of  trouser  which  is 
popular  all  the  way  from  the  Bosphorus  to  the  Adriatic. 
This  trouser,  preferably  of  what  the  ladies  call  a  pastel 


WAR   TIME 


533 


blue,  is  bound  in  at  the  waist  by  a  broad  red  girdle 
which  also  serves  as  pocket,  bank,  arsenal,  and  anything 
else  he  pleases.  Over  it  goes  a  short  zouave  jacket,  more 
or  less  embroidered,  and  round  my  lord's  head  twists  a 
picturesque    figured    turban,    with    a   tassel    dangling    in 


Vouii"  Thrace 


front  of  one  ear.  He  is  a  surj)risingly  well-made  and  well- 
featured  individual  —  Hke  Mistress  Hyacinth  herself, 
for  that  niatter,  and  like  the  roly-poly  small  fry  at  their 
heels.  On  the  whole  they  give  one  the  sense  of  furnish- 
ing excellent  material  for  a  race  —  if  only  the  right  artist 
could  get  hold  of  it. 


534       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND    NEW 


VIII.  SEMIPHILOSOPHIC    MXALE 

One  da\'  I  slopped  on  tlic  ciiuiy  to  watch  a  cheering 
transport  steam  down  the  Bosj^horus.  An  old  Turkish 
lad\'  w  Iio  haijpciu'd  to  be  passing  stopped  to  wateli  it 
too. 

"l-^oor  things!  Poor  thinji;s!"  she  exelainied  aloud. 
"The  lions!  ^'ou  would  think,  they  were  going  to  a  wed- 
chng!"  And  then  turning  to  nie  she  suddenly  asked: 
"Can  you  tell  nie,  cjjcndim,  why  it  is  that  Eurojie  is 
against  us?  Ha\e  we  done  no  good  in  six  hunched 
years.'' 

The  attituch-  ol  Iuiroj)e  was  the  erowiiuig  hitlerness 
ol  the-  war.  In  the  beginning,  Europe  had  loudly  an- 
nounced that  she  would  toh-rate  no  change  in  tlie  stains 
quo.  How  then  did  Euroi)e  come  to  acquiesce  so  quickly 
in  the  accomphshed  fact?  \\'h\-  did  Germany,  the 
friend  of  Abd  iil  Hamid,  and  Enghmd,  the  friend  of 
Kyaniil  Pasha,  and  I' ranee,  the  friend  of  everybody, 
raise  no  hnger  to  help?  I  am  not  the  one  to  suggest  that 
Europe  should  have  done  otherwise.  There  is  a  logic 
of  events  which  sometimes  breaks  through  oOicial  twad- 
dle—  a  just  logic  drawing  into  a  common  destiny  those 
who  share  common  traditions  and  speak  a  common 
tongue.  I  make  no  doubt  that  Austria-Hungary,  to 
mention  only  one  example,  will  one  day  prove  it  to 
her  cost.  Nevertheless,  I  am  able  to  see  that  there  is  a 
Turkish  point  of  view.  And  my  old  lady's  question 
struck  me  as  being  so  profound  that  I  made  no  pretence 
of  answering  it. 

I  might,  to  be  sure,  have  replied  what  so  many  other 
people  were  saying:  "Madam,  most  certainly  you  have 
done  no  good  in  six  hundred  years.  It  is  solely  because 
of  the  evil  you  have  done  that  you  enjoy  any  renown  in 


WAR   TIME  535 

the  world.  You  have  done  nothing  but  burn,  pillage, 
massacre,  defile,  and  destroy.  You  have  stamped  out 
civilisation  wherever  your  horsemen  have  trod.  And 
what  you  were  in  the  beginning  you  are  now.  Your  en- 
emy the  Bulgarian  has  advanced  more  in  one  generation 
than  you  have  in  twenty.  You  still  cHng  to  the  forms 
of  a  bloody  and  barbaric  rehgion,  but  for  what  it  teaches 
of  truth  and  humanity  you  have  no  ear.  You  make  one 
justice  for  yourself  and  one  for  the  owner  of  the  land  you 
have  robbed,  ^'oiir  word  has  become  a  b\\vord  amonc 
the  nations.  \  ou  are  too  proud  or  too  lazy  to  learn 
more  than  your  fathers  knew,  ^'ou  fear  and  try  to  imi- 
tate the  West;  but  of  the  toil,  the  patience,  the  thorough- 
ness, the  perseverance  that  are  the  secret  of  the  West  you 
lia\c  no  inkling.  ^  ou  u  ill  not  work  yourself,  and  you 
will  not  let  others  work  —  unless  for  your  pocket.  You 
have  no  literature,  no  art,  no  science,  no  industry,  worth 
the  name,  ^'ou  are  incapable  of  building  a  road  or  a 
shij3.  ^  ou  take  everything  Ironi  others  —  only  to  spoil 
it,  like  those  territories  where  you  were  lately  at  war, 
like  this  city,  which  was  once  the  glory  of  the  world. 
You  have  no  shadow  of  right  to  this  city  or  to  those 
territories.  The  graves  of  your  ancestors  arc  not  there. 
^  ou  took  them  by  the  sword,  and,  like  everything  else 
that  comes  into  your  hands,  you  have  slowly  ruined  them. 
It  is  only  just  that  you  should  lose  them  by  the  sword. 
For  your  sword  was  the  one  thing  you  knew  how  to  use, 
and  now  even  that  has  rusted  in  your  hand.  You  are 
rotten  through  and  through.  That  is  why  Europe  is 
against  you.  Go  back  to  your  tents  in  Asia,  and  see  if 
you  will  be  capable  of  learning  something  in  another  six 
hundred  years." 

So  might  I   have  answered  my  old  lady  —  had  my 
Turkish  been  good  enough.     But  I  would  scarcely  have 


536      CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

convinced  her.  Nor  would  I  quite  have  convinced  my- 
self. For  while  it  is  a  simple  and  often  very  refreshing 
disposal  of  a  man  to  damn  him  up  and  down,  it  is  not 
one  tliat  really  disposes  of  him.  He  still  remains  there, 
solid  and  unexplained.  So  \s  hile  my  reason  tells  me  how 
incompetent  a  man  the  Turk  is  from  most  Western  points 
of  \iew,  it  reminds  me  that  other  men  ha\e  been  incom- 
petent as  well,  and  even  subject  to  violent  inconsis- 
tencies of  character;  that  this  man  is  a  being  in  evolution, 
with  reasons  for  becoming  what  he  is,  to  whom  Dame 
Nature  may  not  have  given  her  last  touch. 

In  this  liberal  disposition  my  reason  is  no  doubt 
quickened,  I  must  confess,  by  the  fact  that  I  am  at 
heart  a  friend  of  the  Turk.  It  may  be  merely  associa- 
tion. I  have  known  him  many  years.  But  there  is 
something  about  him  I  cannot  help  liking  —  a  simplicity, 
a  manliness,  a  dignity.  I  like  his  fondness  for  water, 
and  llowers,  and  green  meadows,  and  spreading  trees. 
I  like  his  love  of  children.  I  like  his  perfect  manners. 
I  like  his  sobriety.  I  like  his  patience.  I  like  the  way 
he  faces  death.  One  of  the  things  I  like  most  about  him 
is  what  has  been  perhaps  most  his  undoing  —  his  lack 
of  any  commercial  instinct.  I  like,  too,  what  no  one  has 
much  noticed,  the  artistic  side  of  him.  I  do  not  know 
Turkish  enough  to  appreciate  his  literature,  and  his 
religion  forbids  him  —  or  he  imagines  it  does  —  to  en- 
gage in  the  plastic  arts.  But  in  architecture  and  certain 
forms  of  decoration  he  has  created  a  school  of  his  own. 
It  is  not  only  that  the  Turkish  quarter  of  any  Ottoman 
town  is  more  picturesque  than  the  others.  The  old  Pal- 
ace of  the  sultans  in  Constantinople,  certain  old  houses 
I  have  seen,  the  mosques,  the  medressehs,  the  bans,  the 
tombs,  the  fountains,  of  the  Turks  are  an  achievement 
that  deserves  more  serious  study  than  has  been  given 


WAR   TIME  537 

them.  You  may  tell  me  that  they  are  not  Turkish  be- 
cause they  were  designed  after  Byzantine  or  Saracen 
originals,  and  because  Greeks  and  Persians  had  much  to 
do  with  building  them.  But  I  shall  answer  that  every 
architecture  was  derived  from  another,  in  days  not  so 
near  our  own,  and  that,  after  all,  it  was  the  Turk  who 
created  the  opportunity  for  the  foreign  artist  and  ordered 
what  he  wanted. 

I  have,  therefore,_  as  little  patience  as  possible  with 
the  Gladstonian  theory  of  the  unspeakable  Turk.  When 
war  ceases,  when  murders  take  place  no  more  in  happier 
lands,  when  the  last  riot  is  quelled  and  the  last  negro 
lynched,  it  will  be  time  to  discuss  whether  the  Turk  is 
by  nature  more  or  less  bloody  than  other  men.  In  the 
meantime  I  beg  to  point  out  that  he  is,  as  a  matter  of 
fact, 'the  most  peaceable,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
the  Armenian,  of  the  various  tribes  of  his  empire.  Arab, 
Kurd,  and  Laz  are  all  quicker  with  their  blades.  To  his 
more  positive  quahties  I  am  by  no  means  alone  in  testi- 
fying. If  I  had  time  for  chapter  and  verse  I  might  quote 
more  than  one  generation  of  foreign  officers  in  the  Turkish 
service,  and  a  whole  literature  of  travel  —  to  which  Pierre 
Loti  has  contributed  his  share.  But  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
add  that  this  is  a  matter  in  which  Pierre  Loti  may  be 
as  unsafe  a  guide  as  Mr.  Gladstone.  For  blind  praise  is 
no  more  intelligent  than  blind  condemnation.  Neither 
leads  one  any  nearer  to  understanding  the  strange  case 
of  the  Turk. 

To  understand  him  at  all,  I  think  one  needs  to  take 
a  long  view  of  history.  When  we  consider  how  many 
aeons  man  must  ha\e  lived  on  this  planet  and  how  short 
in  comparison  has  been  the  present  phase  of  Western 
civilisation,  it  does  not  seem  as  if  we  had  good  ground 
for  expressing  definitive  opinions  with  regard  to  Eastern 


538       CONSTANTINOPLE  OLD   AND   NEW 

peoples.  A  hundred  years  ago  there  was  no  liint  in  the 
W  est  of  the  expansion  that  was  to  come  through  the  use 
of  steam  and  electricity.  Three  hundred  years  ago  com- 
munications in  most  of  Europe  were  not  so  good  as,  and  I 
doubt  if  Hfe  and  property  were  more  secure  than,  they 
are  in  Turkey  to-day.  For  some  reason  the  Turk  has 
lagged  in  his  developmenl.  He  is  to  all  practical  pur- 
poses a  mediaeval  man,  and  it  is  not  fair  to  judge  him  by 
the  standards  of  the  Iwenllcth  ct'iituiw 

Why  it  should  be  that  men  w  ho  have  a  common  ori- 
gin should  have  followed  such  dilferent  roads,  and  at 
such  an  uneven  pace,  is  in  many  ways  an  insohible  prob- 
lem. Bui  it  should  nol  be,  by  this  time,  an  unfamiliar 
one.  It  would  rather  be  strange,  and  the  world  would 
be  much  poorer  than  it  is,  if  humanity  had  marched  from 
the  beginning  in  a  single  phalanx  —  if  the  world  had  been 
one  great  India,  or  one  great  Egypt,  or  one  great  Greece. 
The  Turk,  then,  as  I  have  no  need  of  insisting,  is  a  medi- 
aeval man.  And  one  reason  why  he  is  so  may  be  that 
he  has  a  much  shorter  heritage  of  civilisation  than  the 
countries  of  the  West.  He  is  a  new  man  as  well  as  a 
mediaeval  one.  In  Europe  and  in  Asia  alike  he  is  a 
parvenu  who  came  on  to  the  scene  long  after  every  one 
else.  It  is  only  verbally  that  the  American  is  a  newer 
man;  for  in  the  thirteenth  century,  when  the  warlike 
Turkish  nomads  first  began  to  make  themselves  known, 
the  different  states  which  have  contributed  to  make 
America  were  already  formed,  while  India,  China,  and  Ja- 
pan had  long  before  reached  a  high  degree  of  civilisation. 

It  seems  to  me  that  this  fact  might  well  account  for 
much  of  the  backwardness  of  the  Turk.  He  has  a  much 
thinner  deposit  of  heredity  in  his  brain  cells.  It  is  con- 
ceivable, too,  that  another  matter  of  heredity  may  enter 
into  it.     Whether  civil  life  originated  in  Asia  or  not,  it 


WAR   TIME  539 

is  certain  that  of  existing  civilisations  the  Oriental  are 
older  than  the  Occidental.  Perhaps,  therefore,  the  Asi- 
atic formed  the  habit  of  pride  and  self-sufTiciency.  Then 
as  successive  tides  of  emigration  rolled  away,  Asia  was 
gradually  drained  of  everything  that  was  not  the  fine 
flower  of  conservatism.  He  who  believed  whatever  is  is 
best  stayed  at  home.  The  others  went  in  search  of  new 
worlds,  and  found  them  not  only  in  the  field  of  empire 
but  in  those  of  science  and  art.  This  continual  skimming 
of  the  adventurous  clement  can  only  have  confirmed 
Asia  in  the  habit  of  mind  so  perfectly  expressed  by  the 
Book  of  Ecclesiastes.  And  the  Turk,  who  was  one  of 
the  last  adventurers  tr)  emerge  from  Asia,  impelled  by 
what  obscure  causes  we  hardly  know,  must  have  a  pro- 
found racial  bent  toward  the  belief  that  everything  is 
vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit.  He  asks  himself  what  is 
the  use,  and  lets  life  slip  by. 

Many  people  have  held  that  there  is  something  in 
Islam  which  automatically  arrests  the  development  of 
those  who  profess  it.  I  cann(jt  think,  myself,  that  the 
thesis  has  been  sufTiciently  proved.  While  no  one  can 
deny  that  religion,  and  particularly  that  Islam,  is  a  great 
cohesive  force,  it  seems  to  me  that  people  have  more  to 
do  with  making  religions  than  religions  with  making 
people.  The  principles  at. the  root  of  all  aspiring  life  — 
call  it  moral,  ethical,  or  religious,  as  you  will  —  exist  in 
every  religion.  And  organised  religion  has  everywhere 
been  responsible  for  much  of  the  fanaticism  and  dis- 
order of  the  world.  For  the  rest,  I  find  much  in  Moham- 
medanism to  admire.  There  is  a  nobility  in  its  stern 
monotheism,  disdaining  every  semblance  of  trinitarian 
subtleties.  Its  daily  services  impress  me  as  being  a 
more  direct  and  dignified  form  of  worship  than  our 
self-conscious  Sunday  mornings  with  their  rustling  pews 


54()       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND   NEW 

and  operatic  choirs.  Then  the  democracy  of  Islam  and 
much  of  what  it  inculcates  with  regard  to  family  and 
civil  Hfe  are  worthy  of  all  respect,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
hygienic  {principles  which  it  succeeded  in  impressing  at  a 
very  early  stage  upon  a  primitive  people.  At  the  same 
time  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Mohammedanism  sufTers 
from  the  fact  that  it  was  designed,  all  too  definitely,  for 
a  {primitive  people.  Men  at  a  higher  stage  of  evolution 
than  were  llu'  Arabs  of  the  seventh  century  recjuire  no 
religious  sanctions  to  keep  themselves  clean.  For  mod- 
ern men  the  social  system  of  Islam,  with  its  degrading 
estimate  of  woman,  is  distinctly  antisocial.  And  many 
of  them  must  find  the  Prophet's  persuasions  to  the  future 
life  a  little  \  uigar.  The  cjuestion  is  whether  they  will 
be  able  to  modernise  Islam.  It  will  be  harder  than  mod- 
ernising Christianity,  for  the  reason  that  Islam  is  a  far 
minuter  system.  Is  there  not  something  moving  in  the 
spectacle  of  a  people  committed  to  an  order  which  can 
ne\er  prevail?  Even  for  this  one  little  ironic  circum- 
stance it  can  never  prevail  in  our  hurrying  modern  world, 
because  it  takes  too  much  time  to  be  a  good  Mohamme- 
dan. But  the  whole  order  is  based  on  a  conception  which 
the  modern  world  refuses  to  admit.  The  word  Islam 
means  resignation  —  submission  to  the  will  of  God. 
And  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  mind  of  Islam  is 
saturated  with  that  spirit.  Why  docs  one  man  succeed 
and  another  fail?  It  is  the  will  of  God.  Why  do  some 
recover  from  illness  and  others  die?  It  is  the  will  of  God. 
Why  do  empires  rise  or  fall?  It  is  the  will  of  God.  A 
man  who  literally  believes  such  a  doctrine  has  no  chance 
against  the  man,  however  less  a  philosopher,  who  believes 
that  his  destiny  lies  in  his  own  hand. 

It  would  be  an   Interesting  experiment  to  see  what 
two  generations,   say,   of  universal   education   might  do 


WAR   TIME  541 

for  the  Turks.     By  education  I  mean  no  more  than  the 
three  R's,  enough  history  and  geography  to  know  that 
Turkey  is  neither  the  largest  nor  the  most  ancient  empire 
in  the  world,  and  some  fundamental  scientific  notions. 
It  is  incredible  how  large  a  proportion  of  Turks  are  illit- 
erate, and  what  fantastic  views  of  the  world  and   their 
place  in  it  the  common  people  hold.     To  nothing  more 
than  this  ignorance  must  be  laid  a  great  part  of  Turkey's 
troubles.     But  another  part  is  due  to  the  character  of 
the  empire  which  it  befell  the  Turk  to  conquer.     If  he 
had  happened,  like  ourselves,  into  a  remote  and  practically 
empty  land  he  might  have  developed  his  own  civilisation. 
Or  if  he  had  occupied  a  country  inhabited  by  a  single 
race  he  would  have  stood  a  better  chance.     Or  if,  agam, 
he   had   appeared  on   the  scene  a   few   centuries  earlier, 
before  Europe  had  had  time  to  get  so  far  ahead  of  him, 
and  before  the  spread  of  learning  and  an  increasing  ease 
of  communications  made  it  increasingly  difficult  for  one 
race  to  absorb  another,  he  might  have  succeeded  in  as- 
similating the  different  peoples  who  came  under  his  sway. 
Why    the    conquerors    did    not    exterminate    or    forcibly 
convert    the    conquered  Christians    has    always    been    a 
question  with  me.     It  may  have  been  a  real  humanity  on 
the  part  of  the  early  sultans,  who  without  doubt  were 
remarkable   men   and   who,  perhaps,   wished    their    own 
wild  followers  to  acquire  the  culture  of  the  Greeks.    Or 
it   may  have  been  a  politic  deference  to  new  European 
neighbours.     In  any  case,   I  am  convinced  that  it  was, 
from    the  Turkish   point    of  view,   a    mistake.    For  the 
Turk  has  never  been  able  to  complete  his  conquest.     On 
the  contrary,  by  recognising  the  religious  independence  of 
his  subjects  he  gave  them  weapons  to  win  their  political 
independence.     And,  beset  by  enemies  within  and  with- 
out, he  has  never  had  time  to  learn  the  lessons  of  peace. 


542       CONSTANTINOPLE   OLD   AND    NEW 

Here,  I  think,  we  come  very  near  the  root  of  his  dilFi- 
culties.  Not  only  has  he  paid,  not  only  does  he  continue 
and  will  he  long  continue  to  pay,  the  price  of  the  invader, 
incessantly  preoccupied  as  he  is  with  questions  of  internal 
order.  He  created  a  form  of  government  which  could 
not  last.  At  its  most  successful  period  it  depended  on 
the  spoils  of  war  —  not  only  in  treasure  but  in  tribute- 
boys,  carefully  chosen  for  the  most  famous  corps  of  the 
army  and  for  the  highest  executive  posts  in  the  empire. 
This  form  of  government  was  highly  eiricient  so  long  as 
the  frontiers  of  the  enij^ire  continued  to  advance.  But  it 
was  not  self-contained,  and  it  kept  tlie  nati\"e-born  Turk 
from  dexeloping  normal  iiabits  and  traditions  of  goxern- 
ment.  The  traditions  it  chiefly  fostered  in  him  were 
those  of  plunder  and  idleness.  Much  of  the  proverbial 
readiness  of  Turks  in  ofTice  to  receive  "presents"  is  less 
a  matter  of  dishonesty  tluin  the  persistence  of  a  time- 
honoured  system  of  making  a  living  in  irregular  ways. 
The  system  is  one  that  naturally  dies  out  with  the  dis- 
appearance of  irregular  sources  of  income.  There  must 
inevitably  follow,  however,  a  painful  period  of  forming 
new  habits,  of  creating  new  traditions.  How  radical  this 
process  had  to  be  with  the  Turks  can  scarcely  be  realised 
by  a  country  like  England,  for  instance,  which  has  been 
able  to  continue  for  a  thousand  years  dexeloping  the  same 
germ  of  government.  The  Turk  himself  hardly  reahses 
yet  how  little  he  can  build  on  the  foundations  of  his 
former  greatness.  And  he  has  been  the  slower  to  come 
to  any  such  realisation  because  circumstances  have  kept 
up  an  ilhision  of  that  greatness  long  after  the  reahty  was 
gone.  If  England,  if  France,  if  Germany,  were  to  be 
left  to-morrow  without  a  bayonet  or  a  battle-ship,  they 
would  still  be  great  powers  by  the  greatness  of  their 
economic,  their  intellectual,  their  artistic  hfe.     Could  the 


WAR  TIME  543 

same  be  said  of  the  Ottoman  Empire?  For  a  century  or 
more  that  empire  has  continued  to  play  the  role  of  a 
great  power  simply  through  comparison  with  smaller  or 
the  mutual  jealousies  of  greater  ones.  It  is  a  long  time 
since  the  Turk  has  really  stood  on  his  own  feet.  He  has 
too  often  been  protected  against  the  consequences  of  his 
own  acts.  And,  the  last  comer  into  the  land  he  rules, 
he  has  been  too  ready  to  ignore  the  existence  of  other 
rights.  But  now,  stripped  of  his  most  distant  and  most 
ungovernable  provinces,  enlightened  by  humiliation  as  to 
the  real  quality  of  his  greatness,  he  may,  let  us  hope,  put 
aside  illusion  and  pretence  and  give  himself  to  the  humbler 
problems  of  common  life.  If  he  sincerely  does  he  may 
find,  in  the  end,  that  he  has  unwittingly  reached  a  great- 
ness bevond  that  won  for  him  bv  the  Janissaries  of  old. 


MASTERS  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE 

Byzas  of  Megara  founded  Byzantium 'jbout  B.  C.  658 

Darius  Hystaspes,  King  of  Persia S^S 

Pausanias  of  Sparta  .     T 4/ 

First  Athenian  (Delian)  League 477 

Sparta 44o 

Alcibiades  of  Athens 40« 

Lysander  of  Sj)arta 40$ 

Spartan  League ^°'* 

Thrasybulus  of  Athens 59° 

Second  Athenian  League -57 

League  of  Byzantium.  Caria,  Chios,  Cos,  and  Rhodes     ....  ,VS7 

Alexander  the  Great ■^■'>j 

I  go 

The  Free  Citv  of  Bvzantium        ^4 


Rome 

The  V  .  . 

Sei)timius  Severus  destroyed  Byzantium  and  renamed  it  Augusta 

A  _  1  _  _ : ....  A . 


Antonina ^^ 

Constantine  the  Great -^^-^ 

Dedicated  New  Rome -'-^ 

Constantius  II -^^"^ 

Tulian  the  Apostate -^  ^ 

Jovian -  /* 

Valens -^  Jz 

Theodosius  I.  the  Great -5'° 

Arcadius ^^^ 

Theodosius  II 

Marcian ^ 

Leo  I ^^57 

Leo  II -^'-^ 

Zeno -^^^ 

Anastasius  I 0 

ustm  I ^ 

'27 

Justinian  I.  the  Great ^  ' 

JusUnll 5^ 

545 


546         MASTERS   OF   CONSTANTINOPLE 

Tiberius A.  D.  578 

Maurice 5«^ 

Phocas ^o-' 

Ikraclius ^^10 

Heraclius  Constantine  III  and  Heracleona-s 041 

Constuns  II ^4^ 

Constantine  I\' ^^^^^ 

Justinian  II ^'^5 

Li-ontius '^^^5 

Til)iTius  III ^^^7 

Justinian  II  (restored) 7°S 

Philii)i)icus 711 

Anaslasius  II 7'.^ 

Theodosius  III 7^5 

LeoIII.thelsauriun 7^7 

Constantine  V  CoiKonynuis 74° 

Leo  I\' 775 

Cunstantiiir  \I 779 

Irene 797 

Nicephorus  I '^°- 

Stauracius ^^^ 

Miciiaell  Rhansahe «ii 

Leo  V,  the  Armenian ^^^ 

Michael  11.  the  Amorian 820 

The()i)hilus 82Q 

Michael  III 842 

Basil  I,  the  Macedonian 867 

Leo  VI,  the  Wise 886 

Constantine  \'II  Porphyro^enitus 91- 

Co-emperors: 

Alexander    912-913 

Romanus  I  Lecapenus 99 1 "945 

Constantine  \'III  and  Stejihanus  rei.i^ned. 

live  weeks  in 944 

Romanus  II 958 

Basil  II,  the  Slayer  of  the  Bulgarians 9^3 

Co-emperors: 

Nicephorus  U  Phocas 965-969 

John  I  Zimisces 969-976 

Constantine  IX 976-1025 

Constantine  IX  (sole  emperor)     .     .     .     .     ; 1025 

Romanus  III  Argyrus 1028 

Michael  IV io34 


MASTERS  OF   CONSTANTINOPLE         547 


Michael  \' A.  D. 

Theodora  and  Zoe 

Constantine  X  Monomachus 

Theodora  (restored) 

Michael  \T  Stratioticus 

Isaac  I  Comnenus 

Constantine  XI  Ducas 

Michael  \TI  Ducas  and  Romanus  I\'  Diogenes 

Nice|)horus  III  Botoniates 

Alexius  I  Comnenus 

John  II  Comnenus 

Manuel  I  Comnenus  .     T 

Alexius  II  Comnenus 

Andronicus  I  Comnenus 

Isaac  II  Angelus 

Alexius  III  Angelus 

Isaac  II  Angelus  (restored)  anil  Alexius  I\'  Anj^elus 

Nicholas  Canahus 

Alexius  \'  Ducas,  Murl/uphlus 

Baldwin  I  (Count  dI'  i'landersi 

Henry 

I'eter   

Robert 

John  of  Brienne 

Baldwin  II 


042 
042 
042 

054 
056 

057 
059 
067 
078 
081 
118 

143 
180 

183 
185 
195 
203 
204 
204 

204 

217 
21Q 
228 
237 


Michael    \'1II    Pala^olofjus  (tifth  emjuTor  of  Nica-a;    succeeded 

i2()o) 1261 

Andronicus  II  Pala'oloj^us 1282 

Co-emperor:  Michael  IX 1 295-1320 

Andronicus  III  Palieolo^us 1328 

John  V  Pakeolofiius 1341 

Co-emperor:  John  \T  Cantacuzene 1341-1355 

Manuel  II    Pala^ologus 1391 

John  \TI  Palaeologus 1425 

Constantine  XII  Palxolojjjus 1448 

Mehmed  II,  the  Conqueror  (seventh  Ottoman  sultan;  succeeded 

1451) 1453 

Baiezid  II 1481 

Selim  I 1512 

Suleiman  I.  the  Magnificent 1520 


54^         \IASTERS   01     CONSTANTINOPLE 

^^■'''11  •■ A.  D.  1566 

Mourad  III i-^  . 

Mehnicd  III i-g^ 

Ahmed  I i5o^ 

Moustafa  I i(jiy 

Osman  II i^ig 

Moustafa  I  (restored) 1022 

Mourad  I\' i()2i, 

I'jrahini i^^o 

Mehmed  IV i^^y 

Suleiman  II i^^^y 

Ahmed  II lOqi 

Moustafa  II i()g- 

Ahmed  III i-o^ 

Mahmoud  I i  -  ,q 

Osmau  III .7-. 

Moustala  III n-^ 

'7^7 

Abd  ul  Ilaiiiid  I i--_^ 

Sclim  III jJsS 

Moustafa  I\' jgo^ 

Mahmoud  II.  the  Reformer 1808 

Abd  til  Mejid jg^o 

Abd  ul  Aziz 1861 

Mourad  V 1876 

Abd  ill  Hamid  II i8^(j 

Mehmed  V loog 


A  CONSTANTINOPLE  BOOK-SHELF 

Abbott,  G.  F.:  "Turkey  in  Transition.  "     1909. 

American,  an  (J.  E.  De  Kay?j:  "Sketches  of  Turkey."     1833. 

Amicis,  Edmondo  de:  "Costantinopoli."     1877. 

Andreossy,  Comte  A.  F.:  "Constantinople  et  le  liosphore."     1820. 

Antoniades,  E.  M.:  "Sainte  Sophie."     1905. 

Ashmead-Bartlett,  Ellisr"\Vith  the  Turks  in  Thrace."     1913. 

Baedeker,  Karl:  "  Konstantinopel  und  Kleinasien."     1905. 

Rarinf^,  Maurice:  "Letters  from  the  Near  East."     191 2. 

liayet,  Ch.:   "L'Art  Byzantin."     2d  cd.     1904. 

Belin,   M.   A.:    'Histoire  de  la  Latinite  de  Constantinople."     2d  ed. 

1894. 
Berard,  Victor:  "La  Revolution  Turque."     1909. 
BeVlie.  L.  de:  " L'Habitation  Byzantine."     1902. 
Bode.  Dr.  Wilhelm:  "  Altpersische  Knupfte[)i)iche."     1904. 

"  Vorderasiatische  Knui)fteppiche." 

Boppe,  A.:   "Les  Peintres  du  Bosphore  au  Dixhuilicme  Siccle."     1911. 

Brown,  John  P.:  "The  Dervishes."     1868. 

Brown,  P.  M.:   "  Foreij-Miers  in  Turkey."     1914. 

Bury,  J.  B.:  ".V  History  of  the  Later  Roman  Empire."     1889. 

Notes  to  Gibbon. 

"The  Ottoman  Conquest."     Cambridge  Modern  History,  i,  3. 

Busbecq:   "Life  and  Letters  of  Ojjier  Ghiselin  de  Busbecq."    Translated 

l)v  C.  T.  Forster  and  F.  H.  B.  Daniell.     1881. 
Byron,    Georpe    Gordon,    Lord:    "Childe    Harold,"    1812,   and    "Don 

Juan."     1824. 

Cervantes,  Miguel:  "Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha."     1605-15. 
Choiseul-Gouffier,  Comte  de:    "Le  Voyage  Pittoresque  de  la  Grece." 

Illustrated.     1782. 
Choisv,  A.:  "L'Art  de  Batir  chez  les  Byzantins."     1884. 
Crawford,  F.  Marion:  "Paul  PatofT."     1887. 
Creasy,  E.  S.:  "History  of  the  Ottoman  Turks."     1878. 

Diehl,  Charles:  "Etudes  Byzantines."     1905. 

"Figures  Byzantines."     2  series. 

"Manuel  d'Art  Byzantin." 

549 


550       A   CONSTANTINOPLE   BOOK-SHELF 

Djclal  Essad:  "Constantinople  —  de  Byzance  a  Stamboul."     1909. 
Djelal  Noury:  "The  Sultan."     1912. 

Dwight,  Henry  O.:  "Constantinoi)le  and  Its  Problems."     1901. 
"Turkish  Life  in  War  Time."     1879. 

Ebersolt,  Jean :  "Le  Grand  Palais  de  Constantinople."     1910. 

"Eglises  Byzantines  de  Constantinople."     1914. 

Edhem  Pacha:  "L'Architecture  Ottomane."     187,^. 
Eliot,  Sir  Charles  (Odysseus):  "Turkey  in  Europe."     2d  ed.     1908. 
Eliot,  Frances:  "The  Diary  of  an  Idle  Woman  in  Constantinople." 
Epstein,  M.:  "The  Early  History  of  the  Levant  Company."     1908. 
Evlia  Chelibi:   "The  Voyages  of  Evlia  Chelibi."     Translated  from  the 
Turkish. 

Falke,  Otto  von:  "Majolica." 

Farrerc.  Claude:  "L'Homme  (\m  Assassina." 

Fazy,  Edmond,  and  Abdul  Halim  Memdouh:    "Anthologie  de  I'Amour 

Turque." 
Finlay,  G.:  "A  History  of  Greece."  ,    1S77. 
Fouquet,  Dr.:    "Contribution  a  I'Etude  de  la  Ceramique  Orientale." 

1900. 

Galla way,  James:  " Constantinople  Ancient  and  Modern."     Published 

London,  1797. 
Gardner,  Alice:  "Theodore  of  Studium." 
Garnett,  Lucy  M.  J.:  "Mysticism  and  Magic  in  Turkey."     191 2. 

—  "The  Turkish  People."     1909. 

"The  Women  and  Folklore  of  Turkey." 

Gautier,  Theophile:  "Constantinople."     1854. 

Gibb,  E.  J.  W.:  "A  History  of  Ottoman  Poetry."     5  vols.     1900-8. 

Gibbon,  Edward:  "The  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire."     Edited  by  J.  B.  Bury.     7  vols.     1896. 

Goodell,  William:   "Forty  Years  in  the  Turkish  Empire."     1876. 

Grelot:  "Relation  Nouvelle  d'un  \'oyage  de  Constantinople."  Illus- 
trated.    1680. 

Grosvenor,  Edwin  A.:  "Constantinople."     Illustrated.     2d  ed.     1900. 

Gurlitt,  Cornelius:  "Die  Baukunst  Konstantinopels."     1907-12. 

Hagopian,  H.  H.:  "Ottoman-Turkish  Conversation  Grammar."     1907. 
Hakluyt,  Richard:  "The  Principall  Navigations,  Voyages,  Traffiques, 

and  Discoveries  of  the  English  Nation  .'  .  ."     1 598-1 600. 
Halide  Edib  Hanoum:  "Handan."     1913. 
Hamlin,  Cyrus:  "Among  the  Turks."     1878. 


A   CONSTANTINOPLE   BOOK-SHELF       551 

Hamlin:   '"My  Life  and  Times."     189,5. 

Hammer,  Joseph  von,  Purgstall:   "  Constantinopolis  unci  der  Bosporos." 

1822. 

"Geschichte  des  Osmanischen  Reiches."     10  vols.     1827. 

"Histoire  de  I'Empire  Ottoman  .  .  ."'     Traduit  par  J.-J.  Hellert. 

18  vols,  and  atlas.     1835. 
Harrison,  Frederic:  "Nicephorus,"  1906,  and  "Theophano."     1904. 
Hatch,  Dr. :  '•  The  Organization  of  the  Early  Christian  Churches."    1880. 
Hawley,  Walter:  "Oriental  Rugs,  Antique  and  Modern."     1913. 
Hichens,  Robert:  ''The  Near  East."     1913. 
Hutton,  \V.  H.:  "Constantinople."   (Mediaeval  Towns  Series.)    2d  ed. 

1904. 

Jackson,  Sir  T.  G.:  "Byzantine  and  Romanesque  Architecture."    191 2. 

James,  Lionel:  "With  the  Conquered  Turk."     1913. 

Jannaris,  A.  X.:   "A  Concise  Dictionary  of  the  English  and  Modern 

Greek  Languages."     1895. 
Jenkins,  Hester  D.:  "Behind  Turkish  Lattices."     191 2. 
Johnson,  Mrs.  (Susannah  Willard):   "A  Narrative  of  Captivity."    1796; 
,    reprinted  1907. 

KnoUes,  Richard:    "A  Generall  Historie  of  the  Turks."     1603.     Con- 
tinuation by  Sir  Paul  Ricaut.     1687. 
Kondakov:  "Les  £mau.\  Byzantins."     1892. 
Koran,  The.     Translated  by  George  Sale.     1734. 
Krumbacher:     "Geschichte    der    Byzantinischen    Litteratur."     2d    ed. 

1897. 
Kunos,  Ignace:  "Forty-four  Turkish  lairy  Tales."     1913. 

La  Barte,  Jules:  "Le  Palais  Imperial  de  Constantinople."     1861. 
Lamartine,  Alphonse  de:  "Voyage  en  Orient."     1835. 
Lane-Poole,  Stanley:  "Life  of  Lord  Stratford  de  Redcliffe."     1888. 

"Oriental  Coins  in  the  British  Museum."      10  vols.     1875-90. 

"Saracenic  Arts."     18S6. 

"Turkey."     (Story  of  the  Nations  Series. )     1886. 

Lawson,  J.  C:  "Modern  Greek  Folklore  and  Ancient  Greek  Religion." 

1910. 
Leclerq,  H.:  "Manuel  d'Archeologie  Chretienne."     1907. 
Le  Comte,  Pretextat:  "  Les  Arts  et  Metiers  de  la  Turquie  et  de  I'Orient." 

1902. 
Le  Hay:  "Engraved  Costumes  of  the  Levant."     Paris,  1714. 
Lethaby  and  Swainson:  "Sancta  Sophia."     1894. 
Lewis,  G.  G.:  "The  Practical  Book  of  Oriental  Rugs."     2d  ed.     1913. 


^^2       A   CONSTANTINOPLE   BOOK-SHELI^^ 

Loti,  Pierre:  ''Aziyude."     1876. 

"Les  Desenchantees."     1906. 

"FaiUome  d'Orient."     1892. 

"Turquie  Aj^onisante."     1913. 

Lybyer,  Albert  H.:  "The  Government  of  the  Ottoman  Empire  in  the 
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1913- 

Mahmud  Mukhtar  Pascha:  '•Mcine  I'iihrunj;  im  BalkankrieRC,  191 2." 

1913- 
Marjjoliouth,  D.  S.:  ''Mahommed  and  the  Rise  of  Islam."     1906. 
McCabe,  Joseph:  "The  I-lmpresses  of  Constantinople."      IQ13. 
McCuUagh,  Francis:  "The  Fall  of  Abdul  Hamid."     1910. 
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Mellinf];:    "  Le  Voyage  Pittoresque  de  Constantinople  et  des  Rives  du 

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Midhat  Bev.  AH  Haydar:  "The  Life  of  Midhat  Pasha.''     1903. 
Miller,  William:  "The  Costumes  of  Turkey."     1802. 
Miller,  William:  "The  Eatins  in  the  Levant."     1908. 

"The  Ottoman  lMii|)ire:  1801-1913."     1913. 

Millingen,  Alexander  van:    "Byzantine  Churches  in  Constantinople." 

1912. 

"Byzantine  Constantinople:  The  Walls  .  .  ."     1899. 

"Constantino|)le."     i()0(). 

Montagu,  Lady  ^Llry  Wortley:  "Letters."     17O3  ct  al. 

Mordtmann,  Dr.:  "Esquisse  Topographique  de  Constantinople."     1892. 

Mour,  J.  van:    "Recueil  de  Cent  Estamjies  Re{)resentant  Differentes 

Nations  du  Levant."     (Plates.)     1712. 
Muir,  Sir  W'illiam:  "The  Life  of  Mohammad." 
Mumford,  J.  K.:  "Oriental  Rags."     1901. 
"Murray's  Handbook  for  Travellers  in  Constantinople  .  .  ."     1900. 

Neale,  J.  AL:  "The  Fall  of  Constantinople." 
Norden,  W^:  "Das  Papsttum  und  Byzanz."     1903. 

d'Ohsson,  Ignatius  Mouradgea:  "Tableau  General  de  I'Empire  Otto- 
man."    Illustrated.     1824. 

Oman,  C.  W.  C:  "The  Byzantine  Empire."  (Story  of  the  Nations 
Series.)     1892. 

Pardoe,  Miss,  and  W\  H.  Bartlett:    "The  Beauties  of  the  Bosphorus." 

Illustrated.     1832. 
Pears,  Sir  Edwin:  "The  Destruction  of  the  Greek  Empire."     1903. 


A   CONSTANTINOPLE   BOOK-SHELF       553 

Pears:  "The  Full  of  Constantinople."     1885. 
"Turkey  and  Its  People."     191 1. 

Racine,  Jean:   "  Bajazet."      1672. 

Ramsay,  Sir  William  ^I.:  "  Studies  in  the  History  and  Art  of  the  Eastern 
Provinces  of  the  Roman  Empire."     1906. 

"The  Revolution  in  Constantinople  and  Turkey."     1909. 

Redhouse,  Sir  James:  "Turkish-English  and  English-Turkish  Dic- 
tionary." 

Remond,  Georges:  "Avec  les  Vaincus."     1913. 

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Saladin,  H.,  and  G.  Migeon:  "Manuel  dWrt  Musulman."     1907. 
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1890. 

"L'EjJopee  Byzantine."     1896-1905. 

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Stanley,  Dean:  "The  Eastern  Church."     1861. 

Strzygowski:  "Die  Byzantinischen  W'asserbehiilter  von  Konstantinopel." 

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Thalasso,  A.:  "Karagueuz." 

"Le  Theatre  Turc."     1884. 

Tinayre,  Marcelle:  "Notes  d'une  \'oyageuse  en  Turquie."     1909. 
Townsend.  Meredith:   "Asia  and  Euro[)e."     3d  ed.      1909. 
Twain,  Mark:  "Ihe  Innocents  Abroad."     1869. 

\ambcry,  .\rminius:  "Manners  in  Oriehtal  Countries."     1876. 

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Wallace,  Lew:  "The  Prince  of  India."     1893. 

Walsh,  Robert:  "Constantinople  and  the  Seven  Churches  of  Asia." 
Illustrated.     1840. 


554       A   CONSTANTINOPLE   BOOK  SHELF 

Walsh:   ''A  Residence  in  Constantinople."     i8;?6. 

Washburn,  Georj^e:  "Fifty  \'ears  in  Constantinople  and  Recollections  of 
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Whitman,  Sidney:  "Turkish  Reminiscences."     1913. 

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Wratislaw,  A.  H.,  M.A.:  "Ad\entures  of  Haron  Wenceslas  Wratislaw  of 
Mitrovvitz;  what  he  saw  in  the  Turkish  Metrojjolis,  Constantinople; 
experienced  in  his  captivity;  and  after  his  happy  return  to  his 
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^'()un.L,^  Georj^e:  "Corps  de  Droit  Ottoman."     7  vols.     1905. 

Zanotti,  Angeio:  "Autour  des  Murs  de  Constantinople."     191 1. 
Zeyneb  Hanoum:  ''A  Turkish  Woman's  Lurojjean  hiipressions."     1913. 


INDEX 


References  in  italics  are  chielly  to  illustrations 


Abraham,  2S7,  2Q-. 
Admirals: 

Halrcddin  Pasha  Harbarossa,_i39,  169, 

170. 
Hassan  Pasha,  368. 
Kilij  Ali  Pasha,  i2q.  166. 
Piakh  Pasha,  130,  140,  163. 
SokoUi  Mchmed  Pasha,  139. 
Siiluiman  Pasha,  376. 
Adrianoplc,  40,  69,  210,  525. 
Aivan  ( Kivan)  Serai,  87. 
Ak  Hiyik.  367,  370. 
Ak  Serai,  364,  381. 

Albanians,  30,   159,   298,  325.  334,  392, 
394.  397.  406,  429,  431,  44f>.  449.  450. 
461,  470. 
Alcnt.  301,  312,  316,  359,  37O,  380. 
Alexander  the  Great,  197,  259. 
Algiers,  166,  169. 
Ali,  310.  .?//,  313. 
Ali  Bey  Souyou,  142,  143. 
Ambassadors    and    Ambassadresses,    xi, 
24,60,  84,  109,  no,  134,  143, 156,160, 
170.  173.  174,  175-  176,  210,  229,  23S 
d  seq.,  243,  254,  289,  293,  329   385, 
418,  419, 431.  432. 473- 474. 478, 497. 
517,  520,  527.     Sec  also  Lady  Mary 
Monta'^u. 
Americans,  xi,  16,  80,  81,  192.  193,  237, 
240,  352,  362,  394,  395.  403.  431-438, 
440,  473,  474,  478,  497.  529,  541- 
Amsterdam,  162. 
Anadolou  Hissar,  245,  251,  j.S'j. 
Ancmis,  88. 

Apollo,  149,  197,  285,  341,  344. 
Appian  Way,  75. 
Aqueducts,  80,   142,   197,  363.  364,  483, 

4S4. 
Arabic  numerals,  104,  369. 
.\rabs,  9.  14,  20,  88,  128,  135,  159,  200, 
215,  227,  265,  266,  270,  274,  286,  292, 
295,  4",  417,419.431,453,537,540- 


Architects: 

Christodoulos,  508. 
Ilaireddin,  41. 
Kemaleddin  Bey,  xi,  41. 
Sinan,  41,42,  49.  5°,  53,60,61,65,  139, 
165,    182,  200,  206,  210,  356,  369, 
377,  486,  523. 
Vedad  Bey,  41. 
Zia  Bey,  xii,  41. 
Architecture: 

Byzantine,  q,   40,    76,   77,    78,   88,   89, 
94,   95,    100,   106,   508.     See  also 
Churches  and  Palaces. 
Romanes<iue,  77. 

Turkish,  7,  8,  39,  41,  42  d  scq.,  143, 
353,  357,  3(>5.  3^9.  370,  37i,  393. 
536.  See  also  Fountains,  Ham, 
Houses,  Mosques,  Palaces,  Tiir- 
bclis,  etc. 
Anlcbil,  48- 

.\rgonauts,  86,  149,  238,  240,  245,  347. 
Armenians,  18,  81   134,  176,  179,  192,  193, 
195,  256,  2C8,  272,  330,  332,  393,  4i<>, 
417,  460,  504,  516,  537. 
Arnaout-kyoi,  245,  251,  252,  321,  344,  345. 
.Vrsenal,  119,  128,  129,  130,  140,  163,  376. 
Artillery,  164. 
Ash  Wednesday,  324. 
.Vthens  and  .\thenians,  75,  76,  78,  99,  157, 

197,  216,  469,  545. 
Avret  Bazaar,  369,  381. 
AyazniJ,  87,  149,  333,  336  d  scq.,  345,  346, 

350- 
Azap  Kapou,  107,  124,  128,  151,  154,  157, 

182,  380. 
Aziz  Mahmoud  Hiidal,  224. 

Basnio,  163,  164. 

Bairam:  see  High  Days  and  Holidays. 

Baisc-main  {mouaycdeh),  289  el  scq. 

"Bajazct,"  58. 

Balat,  48,  87. 


556 


INDEX 


Balikli,  332  el  seq.,  515,  520. 

Balio,  128,  152,  153,  160,  164,  173,  174, 

502. 
Barbarossa:  sir  A(lmir;ils. 
Barbyscs:  see  Kiat  Haneh  Souyou. 
Basma  haneh,  21  j,  214. 
Battles  and  Sieges: 

Adrianople,  525. 

Algiers,  169. 

Bed'r,  377. 

By/antium,  107,  IQ7,  545. 

Cairo,  278,  302. 

Chatalja,  481  el  seq.,  514. 

Chios,  130. 

Chrysopolis,  IQ7. 

Constantinople,  80,  85,  q2,  q7,  qo.  108, 
128,  132,  135,  149,  154,  1U3,  164, 
170,  195,  215,  337,,  339,  347,  383  el 
srq.,  404,  425  el  seq.,  502. 

Famagusta,  140. 

Kerbela.  310,  311,  314,  362,  366,  377. 

Kirk  Kil'seh,    x,    467,  469,  472,  520, 

525- 

Lepanto,  128,  129,  166. 

Liilch  Bourgas,  469,  473,  490. 

Malta,  130. 

Plataja,  107,  404. 

Szigeth,  139. 

Vienna,  25,  31. 
Bazaars:  sec  Markets. 
Bebek,  2j,  247,  248,  355,  434. 
Bee-hive,  206. 
Belkos,  240,  244,  373,  375. 
Beilerbci,  217,  255,375. 
Belgrade  forest,  238. 
Bellini,  Gentile,  iv. 
Benedictines,  161. 
Benozzo  Gozzoli,  502,  ^o^. 
Beshiktash,  121,  149,  150,  169,  170,  298, 

420,  434,  443. 
Bczeslen :  sec  Markets. 
Bible  House,  80,  82. 
Bird-house,  ^2,  135,  218,  jij. 
Black  Sea,  3,  30,  114,  122,  124,  127,  210, 
238,  240.  243,  350,  369,  384,  391,  459. 
Boats  and  Shipping,  23,  85,  114  el  seq., 
J15,  iiS, iig,  121, 122, I2J, 129, 132, 
I4j, 146, 157,  175,  182,  184,  187,  188, 

323,  396,  397,  399,  417,  522. 

Borgia,  Alexander,  92. 

Bosphorus,  113,  128,  130,  196,  197,  198, 
200,  212,  216,  2/7,  218,  228  el  seq., 
243, 249,  252,  321,  322,  340,  344,  382, 


Bosphorus — conlinued. 

3S4, 390,  391.  393.  394.  396,  397 y  4i7, 

45''^.  459- 
Bragadin,  Marcantonio,  140. 
Brangwvn,  Frank,  4,  77. 
Bridge,  jg. 
Broussa,  15,  40,  48,  61,  146,  195,  251,  289, 

302,  358,  408. 
Bulgaria  and   Bulgarians,   98,   150,  334, 

335,  3.0.  417.  429.  44'».  473.  480,  481. 

487,488,  500, 511, 514, 517. 521. 531. 

535- 
Biiyiik  Chekniejeh,  486.  487. 
Biiyiik  Dereh,  238,  240. 
Byron   70.  243,  549. 
Byzantium,  74,  77,  107, 142,  196,  197,  216, 

259,  545- 
Byzas,  142,  216. 

"Cage,"  263,  264,354. 
Calendars: 

Byzantine,  104. 
Gregorian,  99,  179. 
Hebrew,  1 79. 

Julian.  00.  178,  318,  348,  408. 
Mohammedan,  179,  265,  277,  279,  284, 
286. 
Caliphate,  260.  277,  279,  302.  310. 
Calligraphers   and    Calligraphy,    13,   46, 

131,  140,  166,  i6j,  366. 
Camels,  142,  301,  306,  307,  324,  417,  483. 
Ciimpagna,  79,  142,  391,  482,  483. 
Capitulations,  152,  176,  504,  511. 
Capuchins,  161,  164,  172. 
Carnival,  323. 
Catherine  de'  Medici,  174. 
Ceilings,  12,  191,  202,  212,  251,  252,  253, 

262,  380. 
Cemeteries,  8, 107,  log,  iii,  132, 140, 141, 

163,  181,  182,  189    199,  218  (•/  seq., 

221,  223,  315,  331,  334,  3S4,  389,  390, 

395,  483,  489,  520. 
Cervantes,  166. 
Chalcedon,  196,  197,  216. 
Chamlija,  216  el  seq.,  248. 
Charles  H,  24. 
Chatalja,  426,427,^^25, 433,  445,  454.481, 

486,  488,  490,  514,  521. 
Chenier,  Andre,  148,  161,  183. 
Chibouklou,  245,  372 
Chinili  Kyoshk:  see  Palaces. 
Cholera,  486,  489,  491  ct  seq.,  49S,  520, 

526. 


INDEX 


551 


Christmas:  see  High  Days  and  Hoh'days. 
Chronograms,  6 1,  221,  367  c/  seq.,  380. 
Chrysopolis,  113,  IQ5  el  seq. 
Churches: 
Byzantine — 
Archangel  Michael,  245,  347. 
Blacherne,  87. 

Chora — "Our  Saviour  in  the  Fields" 
(Kahrieh  Jarai),  96  el  seq.,  y/,  gS, 
103,  104,  160. 
Forty  Martyrs  of  Sebaste,  338. 
Holy  A{X)stles,  150,  507,  514. 
Myrchiion  (Boudroun  Jami).  .Vj. 
Pammakaristos— "  All-Blessed     Mr- 
gin"  (Fetieh  Jarai),  96,  507,  514, 

515- 

Pantocrator  (Zeirek  Kil'seh  Jami), 
160,  502,  jnj. 

Pege  (Ballkli),  m. 

SS.  Cosmas  and  Uamian,  142. 

St.  Kuphcmia,  197. 

St.  Irene,  q6,  128,  259. 

St.  Irene  (Galata),  150. 

St.  Mamas,  150. 

St.  Mary  the  Mongolian,  508. 

SS.  Sergius  and  Bacchus  (Kiichiik 
.\ya  Sofya),  84,  359. 

St.  Sophia  (.\ya  Sofya),  40, 46, 62,  63, 
75,  77,  81,  82,  90,  92,  96,  152, 
160,  180,  282,  298,  358,  300, 
378,  423,  447,  451.  460,  465, 
502,  507,  514,  518,  526. 

Studion  (Imrahor  Jamisi),  91  et  seq.,  93 
Greek — 

Balikli.  "Our  Lady  of  the  Fishes," 

555'  5-'0- 
Metamorphosis  (Kandilli),  345. 
St.  George  (Phanar),  133,  327  d  seq., 

514.  516. 
St.  George  (Prinkipo),  342. 
St.  Stephen,  349. 

Taxyarch  (Amaout-kyoi),  322,  350. 
Latin — 

Sant'  .\ntonio,  159,  172. 
S.  Benoit,  157,  161,  184. 
San  Francesco  (V'eni  Valideh  Jamisi), 

158,  172,  205. 
St.  George,  149. 
S.  Louis,  172. 
Sta.  Maria  Drap)eris,  172. 
San  Paolo  (.\rab  Jami),  159,  186. 
S.  Pierre,  157,  159,  160. 
Trinitarians,  173. 


Cimabue,  105. 

Cisterns,  81,  82,  93. 

CHmate,  3,  231,  238,  244. 

Cloaca,  82. 

Clocks,  201. 

Coffee  and  Coffee-Houses,  2,  20  d  seq.,  23, 
26,  27,  29,  31,  35,  140,  187,  199,  219, 
268  el  seq.,  275,  334,  396,  397,  398, 
400. 

Colour,  3,  15,  114,  390. 

Columns: 

Constantine  (Burnt  Column),  72,  107, 

173'  424-  _ 
Claudius  Gothicus,  259. 
Marcian,  83. 
Committee  of  Union  and  Progress,  406, 

408,  409,  425,  512. 
Conqueror:  see  Sultan  Mehmed  II. 
Constitution,  30,  136,  255,  277,  284.  332, 

402,  406,  410,  413. 
Convents,  83,  132,  159. 
Conventuals,  158,  172,  205. 
Corbels,  5, 10,  //,  12, 13,  72, 133, 158, 199, 
251,  2S2,  264,  313,  358,   393,  394, 

399- 
Costumes,  30,  117,  146,  159,  177,  181,  220, 
269,  272,  273,  283,  290  el  seq.,  299, 
303.  305-  307,  3",  312.  314,  315,  322, 
325,  327.  328,  331,  352,  342,  343.  392, 
419,  423,  427,  431,  435.  448,  451,  452, 
460,  462,  485,  517,  523,  526,  530,  531, 

532,  533- 
Courts,  7,  40,  42,  63  el  seq.,  64,  69,  70,  72, 
77,  94,  135,  136,  139,  152,  153^  160, 
164.  165,  183,  200,  201,  206,  211,  212, 
260,  261,  262,  263,  264,  288,  2S9,  311, 
312,  31S,  358,  359,  360,  361,  523- 
Crete,  88,  173. 
.  Croats,  130,  177,  394. 
Crusades: 
First,  142. 

Fourth,  77,  80,  85,  89,  92,  132,  150,  152, 
491,  507- 
Cut-Throat  Castle,  347,  364,  383  el  seq., 

384,  387,  390. 
Cydaris:  see  AH  Bey  Souyou. 
Cypress:  see  Trees. 
C\prus,  129,  140. 

Dancers  and  Dancing,  145,  248,  249,  258, 
269,  270,  273,  274,  294,  325,  331,  332, 
335,  336,  337,  343.  344- 

Demeter,  347. 


55^ 


NDE\ 


Derivatives,  ig,  23,  118,  123,  12S,   15.. 

163,  244,  246,  257,  269. 
Dervishes: 

Ikktashi,  xii,  300. 

Ilalveli,  2  2^. 

Muvlevi,  xii,  108,  14.S,  171. 

Koiifai,  222  d  seq.,  316.  394. 

Sunijullii,  394. 
Diehl,  103.  549- 
Doges'  Palace,  89. 
Dogs.  127,  389,  402,  403. 
Dominicans,  159. 
"  Don  Quixote,"  166. 
Doors,  9.  12,  37.  -/".  4''  55.  ''-•  ^4-  '^5-  '^'>- 
70,  71,  133.  i<'5.  -"■/.  ~"9,  213,  -'5-'. 
253,  254,  260, 261,  262,  281,  313, 377. 
Doria,  157.  166.  245. 

i;artiK|uakes,  17,  85.  9^'.  no,  157. 
Kaslcr:  sir  High  Days  and  Holidays. 
Eastern  Church,  92,  113,  318  li  scg.,  500 

il  scg.,  553- 
Eaves,  5,  10,  //,  13,  64, 133.  13').  1S3,  /yy, 

213,  260, 263,  264,  360,  366,  370,  373, 

375,  379'  380,381,393- 
Egypt,  163,  244.  246,  247,  260,  278.  302, 

303- 
Eleusinian  Mysteries,  326. 
Elijah:  sec  St.  Eliiis. 
i'lmbassies,  134.  171,  172.  i73-  '75.  -38  '/ 

scq.,  24J,  243,  386,  438,  473,  474- 
Embroidery.  57,  i4(>.  3°!.  312.  328,  531, 

33^- 
Emirgyan,  245,  246.  251,  372. 
Emperors  and  Empresses,  545  (7  srq.: 

Alexius  n,  152. 

Anastasius  I,  87. 

Andronicus  I,  483. 

Andronicus  H,  99,  100. 

Andronicus  HI,  99. 

Baldwin  I,  160,  547. 

Basil  II  the  Slayer  of  the  Bulgarians, 

152. 
Caracalla,  107. 
Constans,  So. 
Constantinc  I  the  Great,  4,  75.  82.  84, 

85,  92,  107,  150,  197, 363. 424. 501, 

507- 
Constantine  MI  Porphyrogenitus,  84, 

88. 
Constantine  X  Monomachus,  92. 
Constantine  XII,  81. 
Eudoxia,  92. 


Emperors  and  Empresses — continued. 
Hadrian,  82,  363. 
Heraclius,  87,  383. 
Isaac  .\ngelus,  88. 
John  \'  Cantacuzene,  8(),  157. 
John  \  II  Palxologus,  502.  50^. 
Justinian  I  the  Clreat,  4,  78,  85,  90,  96. 
97.   98,    132,    142,    150.    259,  3O3, 

507- 
Leo  I  the  (Ireal.  150. 
Leo  HI  the  Isaurian,  96,  250. 
Manuel  I  Comnenus,  215. 
.Manuel  II  Paheologus,  g2. 
.Manian.  83,  S7. 
Michael  \I  1 1  Pal.vologus,  85,  t)2,    154, 

508. 
Nicephorus  Phociis,  85,  88. 
Piilcheria,  87.  92,  t,!,'^. 
Seplimius  Severus,  107. 
Theotlosius  I  the  (ireal,  icx). 
Theodosius  II,  92,  108,  lOg,  142,  404. 
\alens,  197,  363. 
Empress  Eugenie,  255. 
England  and  lOnglish,  4.  24,  76,  70.  151, 
157.  173  <■'  -''■9'   '*^0'  192,  197.  '^S' 
238,  239,  246,  250,  293, 394, 402, 403, 
414,  415,  420,  434,  43(>,  440.  445.  454. 
467,  474,  478,  481,  488, 497. 513. 521. 
527.  529.  531.  534.  537.  542.     See  also 
Byron,    Gibbon,    and    Lady    Mary 
Montagu. 
Epiphany:  sec  High  Days  and  Holidays. 
Epirus  and  E|)irotes.  171,  325,  331. 
Escutcheons.  157.  i()o. 
Evil  Eye,  248,  208.  7,2$,  463. 
Evkaf:  see  Ministry  of  Pious  Eoundations. 
Excavation.  78,  80.  94.  198. 
Exiles,  41^). 
Eyoub,  135  et  scq..  452,  521  cl  seq. 

Fasting,  265,  266,  319,  324,  325,  346. 

Fatih:  sec  Sultan  Mchmed  II. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  159. 

Fez,  I,  220,  2()9,  291,  328,  343. 

Findikli,  171,  182,  381. 

Fire-places,  12,  55,  134,  261,  262. 

Fires,  2,  8,  19,  36,  82,  83,  134,  i57,  158, 

160,  i6r,  181,  240,  250, 256, 354,  378, 

400,  490. 
Flagellants,  312  el  seq. 
Florence   and   Florentines,    55,   85,    107, 

151,  502.    See  also  Benozzo  Gozzoli, 

Cimabue,  and  Giotto. 


INDEX 


559 


Flowers,  7,  28,  no,  in.  136,  140,  143,  17^, 
193,  206,  227,  228,  230,  232,  233,  257, 
258,  264,  326,  340,  341,  389,  392. 
Fondaco  del  Tiirchi,  19,  89. 
Fountains,  viii,  ^^2  el  seq.,  536: 
House  and  Garden  Fountains — 
Uubbling,  337. 

Cascade  (chag/Ueyan),  236.  2JQ. 
Dripping  (selsebil),  235.  336,  237.  354, 

355,  35^J,  370. 
Jetting  iftskieh),  152,  753,  233,  233, 
251,  253.  254,  255,  260.  355,  356. 
Wall,  11,333,  234.  262,  353  el  seq.,  334. 
Mo5f|ue  Fountains — 
Interior.  35S. 
Exterior — 

Applied,  35.  133.  35S. 
Detached  (shadrlvnn).  63,  64.  6-;, 
72,  77,  133,  13Q,  200, 201,  205, 
358  el  seq.,  359,  360,  361. 
Street  Fountains — 

Applied   {(heshmeh),    130,    183,   1S3, 
jgg,  203,  206,  219,  336    361  (7 

seq.,363,  36S,  37I,4gS■ 
De\.a.i:\^c<l— 
Cll€shmeh,  163.  183,  361,  372,  373, 

374,  375,  404,  45'^- 
Sebil,  71,  72,  136,   1S3,  203,  206, 
361,  3~6el  seq.,  377,  37Q. 
France  and  French,  46,  48,  143,  156.  160, 
162,  172,  229,  239.  240.  255,  262, 416, 
473.  485.  534.  542.     See  also   Che- 
nier.  (iautier,  Loli,  Louis,  and  Paris. 
Franciscans.  15S,  172. 
Frcstoes,  100.  103,  iqi. 
Friends  of  Stamboul,  70.  85. 

Gabriel,  124,  265,  279,  303,  366. 
Galata,  124,  141,  148  el  seq.,  180,  182  el 

seq.,  415,  416,  436,  448,  490. 

Galata  Tower,  148,  154,  156,  160,183,370. 

Gardens,  viii,  2,  10,  54,  134,  143,  169,  170, 

173,   190,  227  el  seq.,  230,  239,  241, 

243,  393.  456,  457 

Design,  228,  229.  230.  234.  235,   236, 

258,  264. 
Marbles,  23J,  233  el  seq.,  233,  236,  237, 

239- 
Mosaic,  228. 
Gautier,  Theophile,  267,  550. 
Genoa  and  Genoese,  124,  150,  151,  152, 
153.  154,  J55,  156, 157  158,  188.  245, 
323.  384,  502. 


Germans  and  Germany,  124,  239, 404,406, 

414,  419,  448,  456,  457,  471,  474,  475, 
486,  534,  542. 
Giant's  Mountain  (Yousha  Daghi),  243. 
Gibbon,  79,  195,  341. 
Giotto,  102,  103,  104.  105. 
Gipsies,  269,  294,  316,  332,  334. 
Gladstone,  402,  537. 
Goeben,  486. 

Golden  Gate,  92,  108,  log,  no,  113,  339. 
Golden  Horn,  4,  39,  87,  88,  io6,  107,  112, 
n3  el  seq.,  115,  iig,  123,  141,  143, 
148,  149.  150,  151,  152,  157,  iSi,  188, 
189,  259,  284,  330. 
Grand  Bazaar:  see  Markets, 
(irand  Logothete,  99,  329. 
Grand  N'izicr: 

Daoud  Pasha,  365. 

Ferid  Pasha,  406. 

Hafi/.  Ahmed  Pasha,  378. 

Hiisscln  Hilmi  Pa^ha,  292. 

Ibrahim  Pasha  (Mourad  III),  62. 

Ibrahim  Pasha  (Ahmed  III),  143,  256, 

372.  379- 
Kyamil  Pasha,  534. 
Kyopriilu  Hussein  Pa^ha,  71  el  seq.,  253. 
Ky<)[)rulu  Mehmed  Pasha,  72. 
Mahmoufl  Pasha,  48. 
Mahmoud  Shefket  Pasha,  x,  428,  433, 

440,  444,  453,  454,  512. 
Midhat  Pasha.  255. 
Rustem  Pasha,  49,  62,  2co. 
Sokolll  Mehmed  Pasha,  65,  128,  139, 

140,  182. 
Tevfik  Pasha.  431. 
Grapes.  345,  346. 
Gra{)e-vines,   19,  21,  28,  65,  72,  135,  133, 

187,  213,  27',  358,  386. 
Gravestones,  8,  34,  log,  jii,  139, 141,  218, 

219,  220  el  seq.,  221,  223,  384,  389. 
Greeks,   18,  55,  105,  113,  117,  121,  122, 
123,  124,  132,  133,  154,  156,  160,  161, 
162,  169,  175,  176,  177,  178.  205,  268, 
269,  272,  318,  321,  325,  330,  331,  334, 

337,  338,  339,  344,  345-  35°,  393,  40i, 
407,  411,  418,  426,  429,  446,  460,  483, 
500.50/.  504,  509,  5n,  512,5/7,  537. 

Grilles,  7,  g,  33,  39,  65,  7',  72,  ^33,  136, 
183,  199,  203,  212,  224,  207,  263,  360, 
361,  375,  376,378,  379,  381. 

Guilds,  19,  30,  117,  118,  119,  120,  124,284, 
325,  332,  2,(>2,  400,  412. 

Gyok  Sou,  146,  245,  346,  383,  456. 


^60 


INDEX 


Ha^ar,  366. 

Haklar  I'lusha.  106,  314,  444. 

HaUjons,  239. 

Hannibal,  197. 

Hans,  16,19,20,81,82,  152, /iJ,  173,3". 

312,  J/ J,  3 IS,  536. 
Hass-kyoi,  159.  324,  369. 
Hi^h  Days  and  Ilulidavs: 
(ircck— 

Annum  ialion,  325. 

Asiension,  350. 

Assumption,  346. 

Halikli  Day  (Our  Lady  of  the  Fishes), 

2,7,2  d  seq.,  336. 
Carnival,  ^27,. 
Apokrtii,  324. 
Cheese  Sunday,  324. 
Chrislm;is,  157,  179,  319,  323. 
Ka>iler,  92,  179,  327  li  srq. 
I^asltr  Monthly,  330. 
Kpiphany   ((Jreat   Hicssing),  320   it 

seq.,  321. 
Exaltation  of  the  Cross,  346. 
Forty  Martyrs  (.It  Sariinda),  33S  vl 

seq. 
Lent,  324  li  srq. 

Clean    Monday    (Tatavla    Day), 

324  cl  seq.,  .?;/. 
C.reat  Week  (Holy  Week),  325  et 
seq. 
Little  Hlessinjjj,  320. 
May  Day,  350. 
Nativity  of  the  \'irgin,  346. 
New  Year  {.li  Vassili),  319. 
Pauayia  Mavromolitissa,  350. 
St.  Demetrius  {Al  TliimUri),  347. 
St.  Klias,  285,  341,  344. 
St.  George,  285,  341  et  seq. 
St.  John,  350. 
St.  Stephen,  34S. 
Transt'iguralion,  345. 
Mohammedan — 

.Accession  Day,  24S,  284. 

Arifeh,  286. 

Ashoureh  (Death  of  Hussein),   200, 

308  el  seq. 
Ba'iram — ■ 

Greater  or  Konrbau  Ba'iram,  287, 

288,  297  et  seq.,  2gg,  303. 
Lesser  or  Slicker  Bairam,  64,  287, 
288  et  seq.,  2S9. 
Berat  Gejesi  (Revelation  of  Prophet's 
Mission),  287,  303. 


High  Days  and  Holidays — eontinued. 
Hld'r  Eless   (Hizir),    144,  213,   285, 

341- 
Iltrkai  Slirrif  (the  Noble  Robe),  277. 
KaJ'r  Gejesi  (Night  of  Power),  2O5, 

279  el  seq.,  2S1,  287. 
K;i.sslm,  213,  347. 
Liberty  Day,  284,  40S. 
.Mnloiid  (Prophet's  Birthday),   286, 

287,  304. 
Miraj  Gejesi  (.\scension),  224,  287. 
New  Year,  179,  285. 

Nevrouz  (No-rouz),  285,  339. 
Ramazdn,  39,  64,  223,  247,  205  et  seq., 

271,  275,   287,   288,  4CX3. 

Rri^lhiib    Gejesi    (Prophet's    Concep- 
tion), 287. 
Hipixxlrome,  56,  75,  83,  152,  403,  46^. 
Hi/,ir.  202,  203,  285,  341,  366.     Sec  also 

High  Days  and  Holidays. 
Holagou,  50S. 

Holy  Week:  see  High  Days  and  Holidays. 
Holy  Wells:  see  Ayazma. 
Horse  Tails,  129. 
Hospitals,  ()(),  467,  472  <•/  seq.,  4S0,  497  et 

.■!rq. 
Houses: 
"GencK'se,  "  15S. 
Phanariote,  133,  134. 
Turkish,  viii,  2,  5,  8,  72, 138,  139,  135, 
199,  213,  295^  .?<*>>,  399'  447,  536. 
Konak,  9  el  seq.,  //,  12,  13,  133,  191, 

353.  393- 
Kyiishk  (Kiosk),  48,   246,   247,  250, 
251   et  seq.,  253,  255,   258,  260, 

356,  357- 
Yali,  240,  245,  250,  251,25-',  256,354, 
372,  382,  393,  397. 
Howells,  W.  D.,  vii. 
Hungary  and  Hungarians,  139,  162. 
Hussein,   310,   312,   313,  314,  315,  316, 
317,  362,366,  377. 

Iconoclasts,  91,  96,  97. 
Icons,  sss,  349,  516. 

Pauayia  MavromoUlissa,  350. 

Shower  of  the  Way,  92,  97,  160,  502. 
If  tar,  247,  266,  277,  279. 
Illuminations,  143,  248,  257,  258,  267,  280, 

282, .284,  287. 
Inscriptions: 

Greek,  100,  108. 

Latin,  108,  109,  no,  157,  161. 


INDEX 


i6i 


Inscriptions — continued. 

Turkish,  lo,  13,  46,  47,  61,  6j,  67,  73, 
/J/,  i6j,  203,  220,  221,  224,  243, 
261,  357,  366  el  seq.,  373,  380. 
lo,  142,  216. 
Ishmael,  297. 

Islam,  34,  66,  246,  260,  267,  282,  284,  286, 
287,   292,  303,  366,  481,  496,  539  et, 
seq. 
Issa  Kapoussou,  108,  360. 
Izzet  Pasha,  414. 

Janissaries.   130.  198,  385,  426,  4S4,  543. 

Also  Sinan. 
Jesuits,  161. 
Jews,   134,  159,  369.  429.  435.  446,  5041 

5I7- 
Jihangir  Soultan,  61,  171. 
Joshua,  243. 
Judas,  27,7,,  327,  350. 

K;uiba,  57,  277,  302,  303. 

Kabal;Lsh,  tiS,  iSj,  188. 

Kadi-kyoi,  196,  198,  219. 

Kahifat  Vcri,  188. 

Ktillikdntzari,  322. 

Kamiilli,  248,  240,  345,  356. 

Kanlija,  371. 

Kara-Ryoz,  270  et  seq.,  271. 

Kassim   I'asha,   128,  130,   140,  163,  180, 

187,  368.  443. 
Kazii,  J5<5.  364. 
Kemcr  Alii,  184. 
Kerocssa,  142. 

Khedives.  244,  245,  246,  247. 
Kiat  Haneh,  143  et  seq.,  236,  285,  j^j. 
Kiat  Haneh  Souyou,  142,  143,  144,  77,, 

146,    147,    2ilK 

Kilios,  238. 

Kiosk :  see  Houses. 

Kirk  Cheshmeh.  3^4. 

Kirk  Kil'seh:  see  Hatlles  and  Sieges. 

Knockers,  9,  62. 

Konia,  30,  40,  48. 

Koran,  2^,  47,  57,  66,  73,  127,  131,  220, 

265,  277,  278,  279,  283,  303,  310,  366, 

367,  393.  410. 
Kourou  Cheshmeh,  347,  J7<S\ 
Kuchiik  Chekmejeh,  486,  489. 
Kurds,  214,  294,  332,  412,  537. 
Kiitahya.  47,  205,  288. 
Kyopriilii:  see  Grand  Vizier. 
Kyossem:  see  Sultana. 


Lady  Lowther.  474,  520,  527. 

Lady  Mary  Montagu,  79,  175,  230,  233, 

238,  250,  531. 
Lady  of  Light:  see  Sultana. 
Lady  of  the  Fishes,  Our:  see  Balikll. 
Lady  of  the  Mongols,  508. 
Lanlerna,  184,  334,  336,  337,  343,  345. 
Lanterns,   i/j,   129,   130,   166,   170,   268, 

281,  282,  320,  321,  ^22,  S23,  392,  490, 

5i5o'^7.  519- 
Latins,  92,  105,  151,  154,  156,  162,  171, 

172,    504,    508.     Sec   also    Genoese, 

Venetians,  etc. 
Laz,  117,  121,  294,  331,  344,  461,  537. 
L;izarists,  161. 

Leander's  Tower:  see  Maiden's  Tower. 
Lent:  see  High  Days  and  Holidays. 
Lepanto:  see  Battles  and  Sieges. 
Lepers,  219. 

Levant  Company,  24,  174,  175. 
Levantines,  161,  176. 
Libraries,  66,  70,  73,  139,  177,  259,  263. 
L<jndon,  24,  76,  175. 
Loti,  Pierre,  141,  148,  521,  537. 
Louis  XIV,  25,  143,  161. 
I^juis  XV.  143,  162,  206. 
Luleh  Hourgas:  see  Hatties  and  Sieges. 

Macedonia    and    Macedonians,   36,    197, 
216,  259,  325,  335,  394,  406,  426  el 
seq.,  511. 
Magnijlca  eommtinild  di  Peru,  155,  156. 
Maiden's  T<nver,  214. 
Malta  and  Maltese,  117,  130,  166. 
Manuscripts,  57,  70,  91,  150,  202,  259. 
Markets,  15,  18,  34.  199,  399. 

Bazaars  ((irand  Bazaar),  15. 
Bezeslen,  15. 

Cop()cr  market,  18. 

Dried  Fruit  Bazaar,  18,  120,  152. 

Lgyptian  (Spice)  Bazaar,  17. 

Fish  market,  18. 

Flower  market,  18,  200. 

Friday  market,  187,  206. 

Fruit  market,  120. 

Monday  market,  19. 

Rug  market,  16. 

Thursday  market,  184. 

Tuesday  market,  187. 

\'cgetable  market,  18. 

Wood  market,  122,  152. 
Marquetry,  16,  36,  55,  57,  59,  130,  134, 
203,  251,  253,  254,  261,  262,  295. 


.-62 


INDEX 


Miiry  Ducas,  98,  lo.v 

Mary  Pala'ologus:  sec  Lady  of  the  Mmi- 

gols. 
Master  of  I'lowcrs,  257. 
Mecca  and  Medina,  30,  57,  200,  251,  266, 

302,  303,  304,  306,  3()4. 
Medea,  117,  238,  347- 
Midnsscli,  17,  66  d  scq.,  35^- 

All  I'asha.  73. 

FeTzoullah  I'.lTendi.  60,  70,  366. 

Hassan  I'asha.  f2. 

Il)rahim  I'asha,  379. 

Kefenek  Sinan,  152. 

Kyopriilii  Hussein  Tasha,  7/,  j;5(?. 

Shemsi  I'asha,  20c)  c/  scq.,  211 . 

Sokolli  Mchmed  Pasha,  rt,-,  (16,  rty,  ?<5/. 
Me;;ara,  107,  142,  196. 
Melimed  Soul  tan,  60,  (n. 
Melling,  229,  250,  254,  256,  373. 
Mcllcin,  238,  244. 
Mcsc:  sec  Streets. 
Milirab,  39,  46,  50,  5/,  53,  67,  95,  130.  /  ?^ 

166,  i6j,  202,  204,  20^),  207,  224. 
Mihrimah  Soullan,  200. 
Miinbcr,  30,  50,  67,   /.;f,   i'>6,  i6j,    202, 

212. 
Ministry  of  Pious  Foundatii)ns.   xi,   xii, 

42,  66,  94,  206,  292,  362. 
Mirror  stone,  354,  358,  364. 
Missions,  80,   157,  158  el  scq.,  164,   172, 

Mitylene,  160. 
Moda,  iq(),  214. 

Mt>liammed,  xi,   14,  57,  66,  73,  127,  135, 
139,  219,  251,  266,  267,  277,  278,  270, 
286,  287,  288,  293,  303,  304,  307,  300, 
310,  352,  450,  479,  540. 
Monasteries,  91,  93,  96,  157,  15S  ct  scq., 
332,  342,  383,  502,  508,  500.  510.  520. 
Montagu:  sec  Lady  Mary. 
Mosaic: 

Glass,  77,  78,  84,  95,  96,  qS,  100  ct  scq., 

102,  104,  161,  259,  282. 
]\Larble,  55,  89,  go,  94,  95. 
Pebble,  228. 
Mosques: 
Bebek,  2j. 
Galata  and  Pcra — 

Arab  Jami  (San  Paolo) :  sec  Churches. 

Asmali  Mesjid,  171. 

Findikli,  182. 

Hamidieh.  280,  282,  410,  431,  444. 

Jihangir,  171. 


Mosf|ues — continued. 

Kilij  .\li  (."Don  Quixote").  165,  167, 
182. 

Nousretieh,  165,  182. 

I'ialeh  Pasha,  130,  /  ?/,  163. 

Sokolli  Mihmed  Pasha,  1S2. 

Veni  \'alideh  Jamisi  (San  Francesco) : 
see  Churches. 
Giant's  Mountain,  243. 
Kourou  Cheshmeh,  347,  '^4^. 
Roumeli  Hissar,  394,  398. 
Scutari  - 

.\hmedich,  20(). 

Aya/.ma,  20<),  j/  ;,  371. 

Chinili  Jami,  2114. 

.Mihrimah,  200.  201. 

Ri)um  Mchmed  Pasha.  20).  224. 

Selimieh,  209. 

Shemsi  Pasha,  2oq,  211,  212. 

Valideh  .\tik.  202,  20?,  316. 

Valideh   Jedid    (Ycni   Valideh),   45. 
205,  207,  249,  360,  370. 
.Staml)oul — 

.\ivas  I'.lTcndi,  88. 

Atik  Ali  Pasha.  41. 

.\ya  Sofya  (St.  Sophia) :  see  Chun  hcs. 

Iknidroun     Jami     (Myrelaion):     scr 
Churches. 

Fyoub  Soultan,  /  ?5.   136,   141,  358, 

45-'- 
Felzoullah  KfTendi,  70. 
Fetich    Jami    (Pammakaristos):    src 

Churches. 
Hafiz  Ahmed  Pasha,  378. 
Hasseki,  369. 

Hekim-zadch  .Mi  Pasha,  75.  279. 
Imrahor    Jami    (Studion):    sec 

Churches. 
Jcrrah  Pasha,  ^7. 

Kahrieh  Jami  (Chora):  5fc  Churches. 
Koumriilii  Mesjid,  364. 
Kiichiik  .\ya  Sofya  (SS.  Sergius  and 

Hacchus):  sec  Churches. 
Kyopriilii  Hussein  Pasha,  73. 
Laleli  Jami,  42.  381. 
Mahmoud  Pasha,  35. 
Nouri  Osmanieh,  42,  358. 
Ramazan  I-^tTendi,  108,  360. 
Riistem  Pasha,  49  el  scq.,  50,  51,  52, 

2DO,  206. 
Shah-zadch.  35,  60,  275. 
Sokolli  Mehmed  Pasha,  65,  67,  69, 

360. 


INDEX 


.-63 


Mosques — continued. 

Sultan  Ahmed.  I  2/,  45,  49-  iJ»  75-  84, 

206,  358,  404. 
Sultan  Balezid  II  ("  Pigeon  Mosque" ) 

35,  40,  41,  64,  288,  298,  358. 
Sultan  Mehmed  II,  35,  64,  289,  295. 

298,  358,  508. 
Sultan  Selim  I,  64,  82,  358. 
Sultan  Suleiman  I,  41.  A-,  4^'.  47-  58, 

197,  3O0. 
Ycni  Jami,  18.  35,  42,  43,  45.  46,  53- 
54.  56,  63,   107,   119.    122,  15'. 
15Q,  206.  298.  299,  300. 
Zal  Miihmoud  Pasha,  523  d  scq. 
Zeinel)  Suullan,  42. 
Zcirek    Kil'seh   Jami    ( Pantocrator): 
see  Churches. 
Mount  .\thos,  50Q,  510. 
Mou-;tafa  Soultan,  59.  61.  360,  523. 
Miiezin,  35,  280,  431.  483- 
Museum,  .xi,  48,  85,  157,  258,  259. 
Musii-: 

Hul^arian,  335. 

Byzantine,  319,  327.  328,  329,  51S. 

Greek,  325,  331.  334.  336.  343.  345-  .u6, 

518. 
Persian,  246. 

Turkish,  145,  172.  246.  268,  269,  272, 
273,  276,  280,  282,  283,  391,  294, 
301,  305,  307.  3 '2,  3 '4.  331.  3,.^^' 
334,  390,  464. 
Mutiny  of  1909.  404.  4^5.  4.S-'.  454-  458. 

N'ame^.  .\i,  527. 

"Xaliuns"  {millcl),7p,  151.  154.  i5f'-  if>2, 
175.    176,    293,   3S2,    504,   511.   5 If), 

541- 

New  Year:  see  Hi^h  Days  and  Holidays. 

New  York.  10,33,  114-  ^7--  ^ll-  >89,-342. 
383,  394,  403,  44'>- 

Nicaea,  48,  40.  99.  202.  204.  50S. 

Xicephorus  (Iregoras,  99. 

Night  of  Power:  see  High  Days  and  Holi- 
days. 

Noah,  124.  308. 

Nyazi  Bey,  445. 

Observants  (Padri  di  Terra  Santa),  161, 

173- 
Odoun  Kapan,  122,  152. 
Omar,  128,  310. 
Orta-kyoi,  255,  435. 


Padua,  103,  104. 

Painters  and  Painting,  78,  100,  103  et  seq., 
134,  162,  191,  229,  250,  237. 
Byzantine,  77,  91,  icx).     See  also  Icons. 
Turkish,  66,   202,  212,  237,  250,  251, 
252,  2j3,  262,   263,  354,  337,  370, 
373-  380. 
Palace  Camarilla,  119,  411,  412. 
Palaces: 

Byzantine — 
'Blachcrne,  85.  87,  108,  112. 

Porphyrogenitus   (Tekfour  Serai), 
48,  88,  90.  134. 
Great  or  Sacred  Palace,  75,  84,  85,  87, 
92,  113,  550. 
Bucoleon,  85. 
Hormisdas,  85. 
House  of  Justinian,  85,  S6. 
Daphne,  84. 
Magnaura,  84. 
Porphyra,  84. 
Pege  ("Balikli'"),  333. 
St.  Mamas,  150. 
Scutari,  195,  214. 
Therai)ia,  238. 
Turkish^ 

All  Bey  Souyou,  143. 

Ikharieh,  143. 

Ik-ilerbel,  217,  255. 

Dolma  Ba'hcheh,  170,  200.  300,  338, 

418,  449. 
Chira'an,  255  (7  seq..  457. 
Kski  Serai,  258. 
(Jalata  Serai,  171. 
Hounkyar  Iskelcsi,  244. 
Kiat  Haneh,  143-  '44-  373- 
Scutari,  214. 
Seraglio— 

Chinili  Kyiishk,  48,  258,  357. 
"Top  Kajiou,"  -xii,  54.  84.  258  et 
seq.,  261,  263,  277,  278,  303, 

334,45°,  452- 
Yildiz,  170,  255,  280,  288,  304,  406, 
408,    410,   412,    417,   434.   435i 
438,    440,    444,    448,    450,    454 
el  scq. 
Palladium,  92. 

Panayiri,  87,  91,  338  ei  seq.,  483. 
Paris,  76,  77,  IC36,  143,  161,  229,  237,  403, 

406. 
Parks,  34.  144.  177.  25S. 
Parliament,  106,  256,  290,  292,  415,  417, 
418  cl  seq.,  425,  430,  447,  452,  491. 


564 


INDEX 


ralriarchate  ((tcumenical),  xii,  133,  327 

(7  si<].,  507,  514  <■'  stq.,  sii). 
ralriarths: 

Armenian,  516. 
Armcno-Catholic,  4:0. 
HulKiirian,  511. 
(Ircck,  13:!.  330,  5cx>  ft  scq. 

C'crularius,  02. 

(Icnnadius  ((Icornc  Scholarius),  502 
d  scq.,  514,  510,  520. 

r.rcKory  V,  507,  519. 

Joarhim  III.  203.  328  <7  5<(/.,  500,  50/, 
5CX)  <7  scq.,  jig. 
Latin,  156. 
Pausanias,  107. 
Pera,  29,  134,  148  cl  .scq.,  171  <■/  scq.,  iSo, 

iSi,  330,  338,  408.  4  I  7.  438,  4.41,  445. 

449,  4''0.  4«o- 
Persia,  Persian,  and  Persians,  14,  17,  j<), 

30,  45.  46,  48,  so,  54,  63,  85,  107,  IJ6, 

195,  196,  197,  210,  239,  245,  2&S,  30) 

d  scq.,  311,  383,  537. 
Pctrion,  132. 
Phanar,  132  d  scq.,  IJ3,  327  d  scq.,  3 '4 

d  scq.,  517,  519. 
Phanariotes,  133,  238,  239,  240,  507,  509. 
Philanthropy,  56,  66,  73,  362,  363,  377. 
Philip  of  Macedon,  197,  216. 
Pi^'cons,  36,  64,  13s,  139. 
Pilgrimage,  87,  91.  303.  3^8. 
Phue  of  Martyrs  {Shchidlcr),  390. 
Plane:  see  Trees. 
Plataia:  sec  Battles  and  Sieges. 
Podesta,  154,  158,  160,  183. 
Poets  and  Poetry,  14,  61,  85,  99,  161,  192, 

193,  210,  221,  243,  357,  366,  380. 
Popes,  92,  99,  109,  156,  500,  501,  503.     " 
Poseidon,  142,  149. 
Prinkijio,  342  d  scq.,  415. 
Printing,  256. 
Pronunciation,  ix. 
Prophet:  sec  Mohammed. 
Pyrgos,  350,  483. 

Quarters,  3,  83,  107,  130,  132,  139,  193, 

367- 
Queen  Elizabeth,  174. 

Rakoczy,  162. 

Ramazan:  sec  High  Days  and  Holidays. 
Ravenna,  95,  103,  212. 
Red  Crescent  and  Red  Cross,  474  el  seq., 
497- 


Refugees: 
Kalkan,  36,   211,    212,   473.  483.  484> 
48$,  489,  490,  520,  521  <7  scq.,  323, 
526,  533- 
Hebrew,  159. 
Moorish,  159. 
Relics: 

Byzantine,  77,  92,  160,  T,ii„  502,  516. 

Turkish,  57,  136,  260,  277,  278,  303. 

Renaissance,  9,  76,  78,  79,  98,  103,  105, 

106,  231    357,  368,  501. 
Renegades.  55,  56,  60,  92,  130,  139,  140, 
166,  169.  171,  172,  173,  174,  193,  205, 
25(),  2Q3,  542.     .\lso  Rijstcm  Pasha 
ami  Sinan. 
Revolution,  v-ii,  140,  J77,  402  d  scq.,  425, 

454.  5"- 
Khodian  plates.  47,  48,  49. 
Kiformati,  173. 
Robert  C\)llege,  394,  395. 
Rococo,  42,  143,  183,  205,  2(^i,  358,  370. 
Rtnlosto,  162. 
Rome.  4,  75,  76,  78,  79,  80,  82,  84,  92,  III, 

197,  501. 
Rose  .\tlar  of  Spring:  sec  Sultana. 
Roth.  !•:.  1)..  xii.  4,  5,   v". 
Roumania    (Moldavia,    Walhuhia,    and 

Vlach),  87,  133,   T,2Ci,  429,  500,  509, 

5'7- 
Roumcli  Hissar,  viii,  246,  347,  364,  375, 

382  ct  scq. 
Roxelana:  see  Sultana. 
Rue:  sec  Streets. 
Rugs,  12,  16,  36,  39,  46,  58,  284. 
Russia  and  Russians,  56,  60,  78,  94,  103, 

104,  173,  229,  240,  269,  329,  369,  486, 

491,  500,  502,  517. 
Riistem  Pasha:  see  Grand  \  izicr. 

Sacred  Caravan,  200,  301  d  seq.,  305,  306, 

307,  30S,  3"9- 
Sacrifice,  297  d  scq.,  347. 
Saint:  sec  Churches  and  High  Days  and 

Holidays. 
St.  .\ndre\v,  149 
St.  Basil,  319,  320. 
St.  Daniel  the  Stylite,  347. 
St.  Francis,  158. 
St.  Hyacinth.  159. 
St.  Irene,  149. 
St.  Luke,  92. 
St.  Mamas,  150,  170. 
St.  Mark's,  76,  89,  139,  502,  508. 


INDEX 


565 


Sainte  Chapelle,  -j-j. 

Salonica,  96,  103,  255,  4C56,  408,  423,  426, 

431,  440,  444,  453,  50Q.  510. 
San  Stefano,  348,  430.  468.  485.  4S6,  490 

et  seq. 
Sculpture: 
Antique,  74,  76.  78,  80,  81,  85,  90,  109, 

197.  198,  259,  347. 
Byzantine,  74,  76,  84,  85,  90,  94,  100, 
129,  158,  232,  233,  356,  364,  363, 

383.  393- 
Turkish,  54,  61,  66,  70,  72,  129,  130, 
166,  201,  202,  203,  206,  20J,  211, 
219,  220,  221,  Ti(),  233  et  seq.,  236, 
237,  251,  253,  262.  264.  353  el  seq., 
354,  355 r  Ji<i.  3^o,  36S,  371,  373, 
374,  375,  377,  379,  389- 
Scutari,  15,  45,  113,  141,  189  et  seq.,  298, 

304,  315  et  seq.,  371,  391,  4i«). 
Sebil:  see  Fountains. 
Sdanilik,  170,  280,  407,  410,  430  et  seq., 

451,  458. 
Selsehil:  see  Fountains. 
Scmistra,  142. 

Septimius  Scverus:  see  Kmpcrors. 
Seraglio:  see  Palaces. 
Seraglio  Point,  92,  107,  114,  151.  15S,  195, 

198.  216,  257,  258,  259.  450. 
Serbs  and  Servia,  130,  139,  140,  177.  329, 

394.  419,  426,  469.  500.  517. 
Seven  Sleepers  of  Kphesus,  126,  127. 
Seven  Towers,  log,  1 10,  3S5. 
Shadrhan:  see  Fountains. 
Shei'h  iil  Islam,  161,  292,372,419,430,504. 
Ebou  Sououd  KtTendi.  140. 
Felzouliah  KiTendi.  (k).  i,(t(). 
Shemsi  Pasha,  210. 
Sherif  oi  .Mecca,  251,  304,  306. 
Shiltes,  310,  357. 
Sicily.  9'>.  100,  103,  113,  152. 
Sid  el  Hattal.  215. 
Silver  Pools,  142.  143,  144. 
Sinan:  see  .\rchitects. 
Slvas,  73,  338. 

Slaves,    130,    139,    140,    163,    166.     .\lso 
Janissaries,  Riistem  Pasha,  and  Sul- 
tana. 
Snuff,  25. 
Solomon,  259. 
Sparta,  107.  545. 
Spies,  402,  403.  407,  408,  416. 
Stained  glass,  10,  12,  46,  55,  58,  61,  66, 
166,  206. 


Stamboul,  .\i.  i  el  seq.,  ;^;}  et  seq.,  74  et 
seq.,  114,  120,  122,  123,  132  el  seq., 
148,  151  et  seq.,  173,  197,  216,  228, 
254,  257  el  seq.,  267  el  seq.,  288,  295  et 
seq.,  301,  311  el  seq.,  327  et  seq.,  332  et 
seq.,  352,  354,  35^  et  seq.,  365,  367, 
369,  376  et  seq.,  403,  404,  417,  418  el 
seq.,  436,  450,  451,  452,  458,  465,  472, 
475,  479,  483,  490,  502,  507,  508,  514 
el  seq.,  $21  et  seq.,  536. 
Stencilling,  10,  18,  42  el  seq.,  46,  50,  54,  61, 

167,  206,  207. 
Stenia,  245. 
Stone-pine:  see  Trees. 
Storks,  200. 
Story-tellers,  270. 

Streets,  3.  5,  7,  10,  14,  19,  54,  70,  71,  ///, 
133,  138,  139.  140,  158,  182,  184,  187, 
198,  igg,  204,  203,  2og,  213,  214,  219, 
220,  222,  268,  2S0,  386,  392,  449. 
Sec  also  Markets. 
.\kar  Cheshmeh,  133,  157. 
Divan  Volou  (Via  Fgnatia,  Mese),  8,  g, 

72.  75- 
Grande  Rue  dc  Galata  ("Bowery"), 
163,  182,  1^3,  184,  1S7,  374,  373. 
(irande  Rue  de  Pera,  148,  159,  173,  179 

et  seq.,  iSu,  438,  440,  447. 
Mahmoud  Pa.sha,  16,  35. 
Pcrshembeh  Bazaxir,  158,  160,  183,  184, 

370. 
Rue  Ilendck,  157. 
Rue  Koumbaratlji,  iSo. 
kuc  dc  Polognc,  175. 
RiicTihinar,  160,  161. 
Rue  \'oIvfjfla,  156,  158. 
Shah-zarich-Bashi,  274,  288,  379. 
"Stt'i)  Street"  (Yiiksek  Kaldlrim),  180, 

184,  437- 
Street  of  the  Falconers,  igg. 
Suez  Canal,  139,  245,  255. 
Sultan  and  Sultana  (sotillan),  55. 
Sultan: 

.\bd  iil  Aziz.  144,  255. 
.\bd  ul  Hamid  I,  381. 
.\bd  Ul  Hamid  II,  130,  163,  176,  192, 
248,  255,  256,  260,  279,  2S1,  288, 
291,  298,  304.  376,  403,  404,  406, 
408,  409,  410,  411,  412,  414,  415, 
418,  420,  421,  el  seq.,  425,  427,  431, 
432,  433,  435,  444,  447,  448,  454  el 
seq.,  460,  484,  510,  512,  513.  518, 
534- 


566 


INDEX 


Sullan — continued 

Ahmed  I,  25,  55,  57,  58,  170,  263,  369, 

378- 
Ahmed  III,  4^,  58,  108,  143,  i44.  158, 

165,  170,  175,  205,  229,  236,  256, 

257,  262,  284,  367,  370,  375,  380. 
Baiczid  I,  192,  289,  383. 
Baiezid  II,  64,  92,97, 165, 171,  258,  365. 
Ibrahim,  25,  55,  63,  173,  246,  264. 
MahmoLid  I,  25,  58,  143,  144,  170.  183, 

278,  358,  370,  375.  380. 
Mahmoud  II,  182. 
Mehmed  I,  302. 
IMehmed  II,  iv,  xi,  57,  64,  85,  loS,  128, 

129,  135,  154,  164,  170.  195,  258, 

347,  357,  365,  378,  383,  384,  386, 

390,  451,  489,  502  (•/  scq.,  507,  508, 

512,  516,  520. 
Mehmed  III,  62,  263,  378. 
Mehmed  l\,  24,  55,  58,  130,  140,  170, 

249. 
Mehmed  V,  xi,   139,  256,   290,   291   d 

scq.,  421,  448,  450,  451,  452,  vi.)'. 

454- 
Mourad  III,  62,  139,  140,  174,  210,  263, 

357,  358,  5M- 
Mourad  IV,  24,  25,  55,  58,  108,  245, 

246,  264,  358,  369,  378. 
Mourad  V,  255,  256. 
^loustafa  I,  63. 
Moustafa  II,  58,  69,  158,  205. 
Mouslafa  III,  215,  371,  372,  381. 
Osman  I,  136,  210,  452,  455,  403,  466, 

508. 
Osman  II,  58,  no. 
Osman  III,  58. 
Selim  I,  48,  64,  128,  169,  171,  258,  260, 

263,  278,  302. 
Selim  II,  59,  62,  128,  130,  139,  170,  210, 

523- 
SeUm  III,  229,  256. 
Suleiman  I,  24,  46,  49,  58,  60,  61,  128, 

139,  140,  142,  144,  163,  165,  169, 

171,  197,  200,  210,  258,  263,  354, 

364,369,372.  523- 
Sultana: 

Hadijeh  (Tarhan),  56,  58,  63. 
Kyossem  (Mahpe'iker),  53,  55  d  scq., 

58,  81,  159,  203,  261,  264. 
"Little  Elephant,"  193. 
Nour  Banou  (Lady  of  Light),  202,  204. 
Rebieh  Giilniish  (Rose  Attar  of  Spring), 

158,  205,  249. 


Sultana  ^(■()«//H»''rf 

Roxelana,  45,  58  d  scq.,  59,  200. 

Safieh  ("the  Baffa"),  174. 
Sun-dial,  200. 

Sunnitcs,  13,  14,  229,  310,  311,  356. 
Sutliijeh,  144. 
Sweden,  162,  172. 

Sweet  Waters  of  Asia:  see  Gyok  Sou. 
Sweet  Waters  of  Europe:  sec  Kiat  Haneh. 
Syria  and  Syrians,  40.  97,  103,  104,  201, 
413,  414,  419,  462. 

Tabriz,  48,  311. 

Tash  Kishla,  442,  443,  444,  445,  477. 

Tatavla,  324. 

Taxim,  163,  180,  330,  332,  439,  440. 

Tekfour  Serai:  see  Palaces. 

Tcmcnna,  26,  291,  292. 

Tents,  144,  275,  284,  294,  29b,  304,  315, 

332,341- 
Theatre,  177,  192,  272  d  scq.,  417,  456. 
Theodore  Metothites,  98  d  seq. 
Therapia,  238  d  seq.,  327. 
Thrace,  36,  142,  150,  22S,  430,  459,  471, 

480,  526,  527,  528,  530,  531. 
T/triines,  346. 

Tiles,  10,  45,  47  d  scq.,  50,  5;,  32,  33,  57, 
58,  5p,  60,  6i,  62,  <5j,  65,  66,  67.  70, 
I3ty  136,  139,  166,  167,  202,  203,  204, 
206,  207,  250,  260,  261,  263,  264,  278, 
371,  378,  379,  380,  455,  550- 
Time,  179,  200,  273. 
Tobacco,  20,  23,  24,  25. 
Top  Haneh,  150,  154,  164,  163,  167.  180, 

187,  188,  298,  373,  374,  375,  436. 
Transfiguration :  5ft'  High  Days  and  Holi- 
days. 
Trebizond,  117,  171,  331. 
Trees,  in,  140,  150,  230,  231,  247,  264, 
340,  386,  390,  393,  457. 
Cypress,  7,  34,  65,  ///,  112,  132,  139, 
140,  163,  181,  182,  189,  199,  202, 
204,  205,  218,  219,  221,  222,  223, 
231,  245.  247,  258,  260,  382,  389, 
390,483,489,  522. 
Judas,  233. 

Plane,  28,  31,  34,  35,  41,  43,  132,  133, 
136,  222,  228,  232,  248,  260,  372, 

457-, 
Stone-pine,  2j,  118,  190,  217,  228,  231, 

243,  245,  248,  249,  252,  382. 
Triumphal  Way,  75. 
Tulips,  257. 


INDEX 


567 


Tiirbehs,  8,  56  d  seq.,  138,  219. 
Aziz  Mahmoud  Hudal,  224. 
Ej'oub  Sultan,  136. 
Halrcddin  Pasha  Barbarossa,  169. 
Ilazrcti  Ahmed  (''St.  Forty"),  339- 
Ibrahim  Pasha  (Ahmed  III),  379- 
Ibrahim  Pasha  (Mourad  III),  62,  63. 
Kyoprulu  Iliisseln  Pasha,  72. 
Kyopriilu  Mchmcd  Pasha,  72. 
Mahmoud  Pasha,  48. 
Mehmcd  Kmin  KfTendi,  381. 
Mouslafa  Soultan,  61. 
Pialeh  Pasha,  132. 
Rebieh  Gulnush  (RosC Attar  of  Spring), 

20j,  206. 

Roxchina,  45,  58,  59,  60,  212. 

Riislcm  Pasha,  62. 

Shah-zadch  (Mehmcd  Soultan),  45,  60 
d  seq. 

Shemsi  Pasha,  211,  212. 

Sokollt  Mchmed  Pasha,  130. 

Sultan  Ahmed  I,  56,  57,  58,  378,  46 j. 

Sultan  Ibrahim,  63. 

Sultan  Mehmed  II,  57. 

Sultan  Mehmed  \',  130. 

Sultan  Selim  II,  62. 

Sultan  Suleiman  I,  58. 

Yeni  Jami,  45,  56,  58,  63. 
Turks,  2,  15,  27,  31,  36,  76,  128,  136,  139, 
145,  193,  210,  218,  219,  247,  266,  267, 
268,  280,  283,  290,  294,  296,  318,  352, 
400,  404,  446,  461.  4f^3  f'  ^''?-'  475  '■' 
jf^.,  491,  493,  49^^,  512,  521,  525  (i 
seq.,  534  d  seq. 
Twenty-eiRht  Mehmed  (Virmi  Sekiz 
Chelibi),  143,  229,  241,  372. 

Valideh  Han,  81,  82,  3126-/  seq.,  313. 

Validelt  SoulLin,  55. 

Van  Mour,  162,  229,  250. 

Venice  and  Venetians,  iv,  vii,  19, 76,89,96, 
103,  105,  108,  no,  118,  127,  129.  132, 
134,  140, 151,  152, 153, 154, 156, 159, 
160,  162,  171,  172,  174,  245,  323.  324, 
384,  41 7>  4f>8,  491,  502. 

Vi.i  Egnaiia,  75,  108,  109,  no. 


Vienna,  25,  31,  76,  106. 

View,  4,  80,  no,  112,  114,  141,  148,  i57, 
171,  181,  182,  189,  195,  198,  216,  21J, 
218,  243,  244,  247,  254,  259,  386,  390, 
403,  458,  486. 

A'illehardouin,  74,  95,  150,  195,  491. 

Vizeh,  531. 

Von  Hammer,  viii,  127,  179,  181,  196,  221, 

551- 

Wallachia:  sec  Roumania. 

Walls,  2,  87,  92,  106  d  seq.,  109,  iii,  112, 
132,  135'  154,  155,  156,  157,  403- 

Water,  26,  27,  218,  266,  278,  352. 

Water-carriers,  362,  369,  376. 

Water-system,  82,  184,  352,  362,  363 

Well-heads,  232,  234. 

'•White  Sea,"  124,  128. 

William  II,  404,  406,  456,  457,  471,  474- 

Windows,  7,  9,  10,  11,  12,  13,  14,  16,  33, 
37,  41,  45,  47,  55,  <55,  67,  71,  72,  167, 
191,  199,  203,  204,  205,  206, 207,  209, 

211,  252,  263,  313,  348- 

Women,  14,  34,  55,  58,  146,  268,  272,  273, 
274,  279,  316,  390,  417,  431,  464, 469. 
473,475,  525,  527  c^seq. 

Wood-block  stamping,  213,  215. 

Woodwork,  12,  16,  17,  45,  54o'P,  61.  i34, 

212,  251,  252,  380. 
Wrestling,  273,  296. 
Writing:  sec  Calligraphy. 

Xenophon,  197,  383. 

Vagh  Kapan,  157. 
Val'i:  sec  Houses. 
Yemish,  120. 
Yeni-kyoi,  346. 
York,  151,  197. 

Young  Turks,  106,  149, 163,404,417,418, 
426,  443,  460,  471,  511,  512. 

Zattere,  324. 

Zeki  Pasha,  408,  409,  415. 

Zemzem,  266,  366,  368. 


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